That's Why You Close Your Eyes
by batfacedgirl
Summary: Jim and Bones are meant to be together. Until Spock gets in the way. Spock/Kirk/McCoy
1. Prologue

**Prologue: The End**

_The End_……it was a simple phrase but full of complex layers, dashing any hope of alternatives and reeking of _finality._ It suggested no options, no modification, no differing outcomes. Not an end but _the End_, the elimination of all possibilities save for the reality starring you in the face. And if you didn't happen to like that particular reality……well, suck it up bitch, cause it was _the END, _the only one, so you'd better fucking learn to live with it!

For Leonard McCoy, CMO of the Federation Flag Ship Enterprise, recognizing _the End_ was a skill honed in past experience. _The End_ of his father, _the End_ of his marriage, _the End _of the comfortable life he had built for himself in Georgia. A few simple stylus strokes on a series of PADDs had effectively signed his soul over to Starfleet and he had found himself reluctantly strapped into a recruit shuttle, informing the wild-eyed, self-assured kid sitting next to him that he might just have to throw up on him.

Well, if this was _the End_, then perhaps that moment qualified as _the Beginning_; a loose, semi-friendly exchange over a hidden flask, two hardened individuals still in their civvies plunked down side by side among apple cheeked young recruits in their bright, crisp cadet reds. An exchange of names, a "Jim" to a "Leonard" and the seeds of a nickname that would stick like glue. Leonard had been raw and reticent, unable to risk anything when he had so little left, but in Jim Kirk he had immediately discovered a kindred spirit, a man who was equally unwilling to part with his few remaining shreds of self.

So it had _begun_, not as a friendship but merely as a mutual respect for personal space. But it had quickly started to morph, a transformation spurred on by the strange promise of relief for an instinctual need. It had lain between them since that first meeting, and when Jim had somehow bribed, hacked or finagled his way into Len's dorm room, the doctor had to admit he'd been glad.

And sure, it hadn't happened all at once, but when Leonard thought back on _the Beginning_, he marveled at how quickly he had allowed Jim in. It was the first time in years Leonard felt comfortable with the person he lived with. And the juxtaposition of this new, simple camaraderie with the kid from Iowa to his parent's expectations or his ex-wife's demands allowed him to relax boundaries that he'd held erect since he was twelve. And once a chink had appeared in the armor, the crazy kid had assaulted with determination.

Jim Kirk was brilliant, that much was obvious. But he was also broken and flailing, with nothing but stubbornness and bitterness to hold him down. The kid had no anchor but he read in Leonard a need to protect, to nurture and care for, to make and keep commitments. If they were going to make it then Jim needed someone to give a damn and Len needed someone to give a damn about. And Jim Kirk, master strategist in training, had recognized that they fit each other's needs. They'd pushed and goaded and gotten under each other's skin and emerged a little smoother around the edges.

That had been the first year.

After that, they had moved on to confession. Jim was all intuition and he just knew that something was going on inside that brilliant but guarded head. Carefully steered conversations and some well timed beer and bourbon chasers led to full-on disclosure; Jim's mom, Len's wife, Jim's dad, Len's daughter. The deep, dark, ugly and beautiful bits you usually buried that were laid bare in the face of acceptance.

This had gone on for months, the two of them, studying done for the night, a bottle on the table as they sat sideways on Leonard's bed, backs against, the wall, personal boundaries dismissed, shoulder touching, knees connecting. There was no declaration, no relationship defining talk; it just happened that one night Jim finally asked _the_ question. "Bones, what happened?"

What _had _happened? He'd done what they all wanted, gotten the degrees, married the girl with the right family, provided bragging rights to the McCoy clan with his medical genius and research strives. Then his father had become ill, had _demanded_ a cure and for the first time, Leonard had failed to live up to expectation. With his father's life hanging in the balance, he had run up against a medical dilemma he couldn't solve. And his father, the restrained, unemotional David McCoy who was so in control he hadn't even shared his symptoms until it was too goddamn late, had broken apart in pain and begged his son for death.

And Leonard had granted it.

He'd told Jim this as they huddled on his bed, brandy bottle empty on the floor, Len's eyes emptying down as his face as Jim held him, pressing Len's cheek into his chest, and stroking his hair and back. Leonard's breath had hitched, and he'd cried in a way that would have made David McCoy frown in disgust. Grimacing at the face of condemnation that still plagued his mind, Len said, "So now you know. I'm a doctor and I killed my own father."

"Is that why you left?"

"Not exactly…….but mostly. It just made me doubt myself. See, I always did what they wanted, always followed their plan, but I never really felt like I was one of them. I was a doctor, I helped people, really helped people. Not the kind of help where you attend charity luncheons and sip tea and discuss the plight of the poor orphans or some shit like that. And when I did that, helped him die, a part of it was that I didn't want him to think I was weak! And what did that make me, Jim? I felt like I was abandoning the one thing I had that made me different. I'm supposed to heal people. I just couldn't lose that. But it still took a while to leave."

The hands kept rubbing circles on his back. "Why?"

Leonard sighed and drew away, shifting to the edge of the bed. "About six weeks after my father's…..death……we finally isolated the necessary compounds and found the cure. It wasn't even that complicated to administer, just six hypo injections over a period of three months and the patient is fine. They called my research _pivotal_, tried to give my some goddamn award and shit. And my mother was offended that I had refused. Didn't like how my actions reflected on the family. The wife agreed, thought it was bad form. Said I wasn't who she thought I was. Started running around on me and then asked for a divorce. You know the rest. I got taken to the cleaners, bumped into Pike, and ended up here."

Leonard ran a hand through his hair and starred across the room at nothing. Jim scooted to the edge of the bed and draped his arm around Len's shoulders. "I get it, Bones."

"Yeah, kid, I'm sure you do. It doesn't make it okay. Not for a doctor to kill his patient."

Jim contemplated shoving him but he knew his doctor too well. Bones rose to the challenge of a raised voice but calm, logical discussion often worked with him. Gently pulling Leonard to face him, Jim said, "Look, you've been beating yourself up about this for two damn years and there isn't anything I'm gonna say to you in two minutes that's gonna make it all okay. But let me just ask you, what exactly did you do? Fail to foresee the future? You saw a man in terrible pain who you couldn't help. You did everything you could and when it finally became too much, you gave him the only kind of assistance you could. I know it goes against the official rules and regulations but those things are only theoretical anyway. They don't always work in real-life situations."

Leonard had tried to pull away but Jim's grip was firm. "You're a good man, okay. You don't hurt people, you help them the best way you know how. You've helped me! I'd remind you that there is no way you ever could have known that you would've found the cure so soon, but you're brilliant so I'm pretty sure you already realized that. You need to stop psychoanalyzing all the minutia of your decisions and start forgiving yourself!"

So Leonard had worked on it. He'd clung to Jim's words, calling them to mind when guilt or despair threatened.

That had been the second year.

From then on, it was all familiarity. What couldn't you say to the guy who knew your deepest, darkest secrets, right? For Leonard, who had never had a relationship that wasn't based on someone's agenda, this complete openness and trust was a heady thing. And even though they still never discussed it, he could tell where this was heading. So when it finally happened, he hadn't really been surprised.

They'd been doing it again, sitting on Len's bed, watching a movie, Jim absentmindedly cuddling into his chest, when Leonard had felt the change. Air which had tasted innocuous a second before suddenly crackled with sexual tension. He breathed slowly, taking care not to move or create any disturbance when he'd felt a fingertip slowly tracing the thin line of exposed skin between his shirt and sweats.

He'd always kind of expected alcohol to be involved, a drunken tumble after a night at the bar, a simple excuse that would allow them both to look at each other and chuckle the morning after with a good natured "Oops, too late to stop now." But on second thought, this was the Jim Kirk way, to plot a course and pursue it relentlessly and as he was pressed firmly into his bed and methodically divested of his clothes, Jim maintained eye contact. It was Jim and it was Len and dammit they were doing _this _together and there would be no room for denial or pretending. Jim stripped him with his eyes open, kissed him with his eyes open, fucked him with his eyes open, their foreheads pressed together and their quick, panting breaths intermingling in a warm fog.

Afterward, as he lay sprawled across his bed in a post-coital puddle, Jim had leaned up and slipped an arm beneath his neck, cradling his head and drawing their mouths together. As Leonard had drifted on the current of sweet, giving kisses, he'd felt Jim take his hand, gently entwining their fingers, pressing them back into mattress and his eyes had spoken volumes as they met Len's. That had been the extent of the conversation, a question posed in azure blue, a quick nod of assent from Leonard and the two of them were one. As far as Len was concerned, it had meant forever.

Len had been content. Hell, he might even have been happy. But then he was grasping the true meaning of shit storm, climbing through the wreckage of a starship sickbay, receiving a promotion through the violent demise of his superior and watching the love of his life dive headfirst into near-death as they witnessed the destruction of Vulcan and fought to save Earth. Then the grief addled Romulan was dead and before Len could say aviophobia he was the CMO of the federation flag ship, serving under Captain James T. Kirk and it had been terrifying and wonderful because they were together.

That had been the third year.

So they were in space, and for a brief moment Leonard had actually allowed himself to believe that it would all work out. It had to, because he'd given so much, trusted so much, allowed so much in. Because when he'd decided that this was forever he'd meant it and he'd been pretty sure that Jim had, too.

But that was before Jim had met Spock.

And that had been the beginning of _the End._


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: Hello, everyone. I just want to give everyone a heads up because the first two chapters were posted quite close together but this won't always be the case. I am, however, going to try to keep my time line more consistent with this story than I have in the past. Secondly, I promise not to do this again but this story has received a far amount of traffic and alerts but only three little reviews. I appreciate them so much and I am very open to constructive criticism or even a simple "nice job". I know it sounds cheesy but I firmly believe that reviews make writers write faster and better. So, I won't beg again but I'm just sayin.....**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I do own a large poster of Karl Urban as Caesar from _Xena_ but it isn't quite as good as the real thing! Alas....**

* * *

**Chapter One:**

It is a common misconception that the term "communication" refers only to the spoken word. But as Nyota Uhura was "unsurpassed" in this particular art form, she was aware of all its numerous sub-genres. Inflection, for example, infused simple words with layers of hidden meaning. Syntax, the task of word selection, was also very telling to the observant ear. And of course, one couldn't dismiss the importance of body language. Nyota was the consummate expert, a master of interpretation and it was armed with the indisputable proof of her own well trained eyes and ears that she had approached Commander Spock and ended their relationship.

Because she wasn't _blind_! She had seen what lay between them, her lover and the captain of her ship. The captain…..no, Jim, because when you gracefully bowed out and let another person have the man you loved, you were allowed to used the guy's name…_Jim _possessed a wealth of life experiences that made him uniquely suitable to help Spock cope with the emotional upheaval he was experiencing. Outsider status, parental disappointment, parental _loss_. Nyota counted herself lucky to have no experience with these things, whereas Jim Kirk had practically written the book. She loved Spock, of that she was certain, loved him enough to know what he needed, and her well trained eye told her he was finding it in Jim.

It had felt good, in a sense; this stepping away, removing herself from their unfolding dynamic. And a part of her admitted to a delicious curiosity. Just what would these two _do_ together? In fact, her personal feelings in the matter might have remained completely unqualified, except that Nyota's keen powers of observation weren't limited to her captain and his first. There was also the matter of the doctor.

Leonard H. McCoy was a man who had earned her admiration and respect. She was pretty sure he was also Jim's lover and even as Nyota stepped away to clear a path between her ex and her captain, she couldn't help but feel that she was betraying a good man. The guilt grated on her, forced her to remind herself that she had observed a real potential between the men, the potential to be extraordinary, to do the extraordinary and she had too much faith in her own abilities to believe that she was wrong.

As for Leonard, well, once again she had to admit she wasn't blind. He and Jim shared something, something special, something important, something that had helped shape Jim into the CO he had become. And she had seen the way Spock eyed the doctor, his mouth set, his expression one of challenge. Already, their verbal sparring was becoming the stuff of legends but the hostility had remained muted as long as Spock downplayed his desire for Jim. Unfortunately, Nyota was pretty sure this restraint had been for her benefit and not out of respect for the doctor. Now that she had effectively taken herself out of the equation, Spock would step up his pursuit. He was brilliant and deductive. He certainly recognized the potential. And he would consider it illogical to prevaricate over something as silly as human emotional attachment.

Nyota sighed as she observed the captain step out of his ready room deep in conversation with Spock. No one could miss the chemistry there, certainly not someone like Leonard McCoy. She caught Spock's eye a second before the turbo lift doors slid shut, recognized the lift of his brow. Oh yeah, it was on, and Nyota had a feeling it was going to get messy.

***************

Amber was a funny color. When one removed all of its romanticized affiliations, it was, quite honestly, the color of cow piss. But as Leonard held his tumbler up in front of his eye, he thought the world had never looked better than it did through a glass of brandy. The sloshing, amber liquid effectively distorted a reality he no longer wanted to face.

Everything ached. His armpits were tender and abraded, his shoulder blades black with bruises. His chin was ringed with purple, fingertip sized blemishes that smarted each time he took a drink. Not that that was slowing him down any. And Len also couldn't ignore the strange, nagging pressure in his head. Damn. He didn't think he'd drunk that much yet. Well, however much it was, it wasn't enough. It hadn't drowned out the pain in his chest yet.

What surprised him most was that he could actually still _be_ surprised. He'd been cast aside and rejected by everyone who was supposed to stay and he couldn't understand why he'd thought Jim would be different. That was why this killed him, his own naiveté, because for some reason, despite all evidence to the contrary, a part of him deep down _had_ actually believed that Jim would keep his word, that when he said forever he would actually _mean_ it. Well, pity the foolish southern doctor, because Jim had definitely moved on and if the pain in Len's back and arms were any indication, his new lover wasn't planning on letting him look back.

Len poured himself another double and leaned his head back against the sterile walls of his office. He should get a regenerator on his arms and especially his chin before someone saw him. His medically minded staff might be the soul of discretion but who knew what wagging tongues might wander into sickbay. But healing would mean responsibility, would mean a world outside of this room and this bottle, where he would still be expected to perform as CMO under the command of the man who drop-kicked his heart and the pointy-eared bastard who'd stolen him away.

Perhaps the greatest irony of all this was that Leonard had _encouraged_ Jim to befriend Spock in the first place. He had been intrigued by Jim's description of Spock-of-the-future and the great friendship to which he had alluded. And once Spock signed on as first officer, it had only made sense for Len to encourage the two to get along. Healthy friendships would lead to a healthy crew, he rationalized. Besides, he'd seen what the two could accomplish when they worked together towards a common goal and he was in favor of anything that would keep the Enterprise safe, efficient, and in one piece.

So he had supported them, nursed their camaraderie, stepped back and given them plenty of room to build the foundations of a friendship. And yes, he had noticed when Jim started missing meals to talk with Spock or coming in late without comming but he'd kept his mouth shut because a healthy relationship between the two was important and damned if he was going to add unnecessary complications by acting the part of the jealous, possessive boyfriend.

He had tried to behave, tried so hard. And initially he had chalked it up to paranoia, to an overactive imagination honed by years of emotional indifference and abused trust. He had doubted his own eyes, ears, and well developed instincts because a part of him couldn't believe that the green-blooded asshole could care enough about anyone to risk an emotional confrontation. But apparently Jim was worth it because the pointy-eared bastard had made his intentions perfectly clear. And he was apparently a better strategist than Len gave him credit for. If he saw emotion as a weakness, he also knew how that weakness could be exploited.

It turned out that Spock was a consummate master in the fine art of passive aggression. There was no blatancy in his attack, just carefully placed jabs designed to penetrate Len's armor at its weakest points. It was apparent in the subtle way he questioned the competency of Leonard's medical decisions, his inquiries harsh and unfair but perfectly justifiable in light of his role as first officer. It was in the cool, logical, veiled insults that constantly backed the doctor into a wall, causing him to lash out in emotion and encouraging Jim to rein him in affectionately. One day he looked up and realized that he had become their private joke, the thing they shook their heads at together, eyes meeting in mutual amusement.

It had hurt but he had believed in Jim and a part of him still thought that Spock was just the new toy at Christmas, that the luster would eventually fade. So, he had switched tactics, keeping away from Spock so as to avoid the confrontations that left him feeling patronized and abandoned. And he had indulged Jim, even as more and more of their alone time became dedicated to regalements of Spock; how in-tuned they were, how well they worked together, how they could practically read each others' minds. And then Jim had dropped the bombshell and Len's good intentions had flown right out the airlock.

"What the hell do you mean, you let him meld with you? What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Len's blood pressure was spiking as he paced Jim's cabin. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

Jim held up his hands in placation. "Bones, relax. I know you freak out about my health but trust me, its fine. You ran a scan yourself after Delta Vega and you were convinced that the ambassador didn't do me any damage. Relax. You know he'd never hurt me."

Len glared at him for whole minutes. How could a man so brilliant be so goddamned obtuse? "Really," he replied in a carefully clipped tone, "because I thought the bastard tried to kill you. Twice. But you know what? I'm actually completely uninterested in your _health _right now. No, kid, this is about you and me and where our boundaries lie."

Jim sobered. "Bones, c'mon. It isn't like that at all. We're friends, you know, like _you_ wanted us to be. I know Vulcans attach a lot of deep meaning to melds but you make it sound like I'm cheating!"

Bones felt his self-control teetering on the brink. He was stressed and tired and in no mood to swallow bullshit from the man he loved. Taking a deep breath, he replied in an artificially calm voice, "Jim, do you remember what word you used when you first told me about your meld with the older guy? Intimate, Jim, you called it intimate. You said it was strange how natural it felt to be so intimate with a guy you barely knew. So don't sit here and lie to my face and tell me that it isn't crossing some kind of line!"

"Bones, what the….." but the door cut off the punch line as Leonard fled into the corridor.

It had taken three days of mutual avoidance before Jim had cracked and plunked himself down on a chair in Len's office with an expression of mild surliness coloring his face. They had engaged in a short stare-off before Len had thrown the kid a line and launched into an explanation of the schedule for crew vaccination boosters. Jim had departed with a smile but it hadn't escaped Len's notice that the captain had carefully avoided any definitive statements regarding mind-melds.

Something had changed then. A wall built of secrecy and un-expressed resentment had been erected in a relationship founded on honesty and trust. Where they had once been open, now they were guarded, cautious, measuring their words and responses to the other's carefully concealed mood. Len was now the burden, while Jim's interactions with Spock were easy, effortless. And Len knew Spock was no fool. He would see the vulnerability and pounce.

When Leonard was honest with himself, he admitted that he was deliberately avoiding Jim but even he hadn't thought that the lack of communication would extend to life or death situations. To be the captain or CMO of a Constitution Class starship meant occasionally coping with crew mortality and they had grown accustomed to dealing with it together. So when geologist Thomas Spector died in surgery following a planet side rock slide, Len knew Jim would need some comfort.

Spector had been a bright eyed kid, only months out of the academy, when he had shuttled to safety off the USS Kelvin, his life saved by the selfless sacrifice of one George Kirk. Jim was protective of the man, his life a tangible justification of his own father's death. And it just offended Len on some visceral level to lose patients to random acts of god. He'd tried everything, but still the man had slipped away and as he sat nursing his third glass of Tennessee whiskey, he mused on what he could say to Jim when the young captain inevitably made his appearance.

Only Jim never showed up.

Now this was just wrong on two sides of the coin. Jim _always _came to him when he needed to cope with the death of a crew member. Jim _always_ came to him when Len lost someone in surgery. It was a hard and fast rule and nothing ever got in the way. Until tonight. Leonard twisted around to peer at the chronometer mounted above his couch. It was almost one a.m. Where the hell was he?

Leonard prided himself on his intuition and right now every sense he possessed was screaming at him to turn around, to head back to his cabin. But some masochistic drive pushed him forward, down the corridors, to stand in front of Jim's door. His palm itched but he made himself press it to the door and step inside.

The room was empty, the bedclothes pulled up in a semblance of order, the air slightly chilled. It was clear that the room had been unoccupied for some time. Leonard's momentary sense of relief was replaced with fury. Was he in Spock's room?

Leonard was tired of rationality, of patience when all it seemed to mean was his pain and humiliation. He strode purposefully towards the first officer's cabin, all manners of profanity running through his inebriated mind, when a young ensign in a red engineering coverall sidled past him. Leonard stopped and shook his head, castigating himself for his own stupidity. Dammit, of course.

Scotty had been the one to introduce the two of them to the Engineering observatory, a tiny, glass floored room in the bottom of the main hold. It was designed to allow engineering to spot possible external problems without spacewalking but the room was seldom in use and Len and Jim had adopted it as their own some months ago. Len sighed as he exited the turbo lift and wound his way through the engineering corridors. It had been quite a while since they'd come here together. No wonder he hadn't thought of it.

He was feeling contrite and ten times an idiot as he approached the tiny door and keyed in the locking code. The door slid open silently and he stepped into the darkened control vestibule. He was still rehearsing lines of apology in his mind when he glanced into the main observatory.

And his breath froze in his chest.

The room was unlit but the running lights of the Enterprise shone through the glass flooring, illuminating the room in a golden glow. Pieces of Starfleet regulation uniform littered the floor and Leonard nearly stumbled on a boot as he came to a standstill in the doorway, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

Spock sprawled flat on his back on the glass, casting a Vulcan shaped shadow against the ceiling and wall. His back arched and his hands traced patterns on the bare chest and back of one James Tiberius Kirk, who was straddling his waist, riding him with complete abandon. The dull hum of the engines was overshadowed by the delicate panting breaths, the slide and slap of bare skin on skin.

Leonard knew Jim, knew how the man approached sex. For Jim Kirk, loving and fucking were two different things, each with their own rules and protocols. And this scene, no matter how debaucherous, wasn't blind need, senseless, animal, take-me-away-from-my-misery fucking. Not with Jim sprawling over Spock's chest, pressing their lips together, stealing each other's breath. Not with Spock planting his feet, wrapping an arm around Jim's waist, driving him down on his shaft, harder and faster, while he fisted Jim's hair, thoroughly tonguing his mouth. No, this was intimacy, this was connection. This was love.

Leonard never even realized he'd left the room. He had no recollection of the turbo lift, the corridors, the door to his cabin. All he knew was he was sitting on his bed when Jim commed him an hour later. He answered on autopilot, his face blank, his eyes dead, and acknowledged Jim's words with a non-committal nod.

"So, can I come over?"

The inquisitive tone startled Len out of his daze, "What?"

"Bones, snap out of it, man. I'm sorry it's so late but can I come over?"

Len heard the words but it was beyond him to formulate an answer. He starred at the face on the screen in front of him, studying each detail as if for the last time. His voice was flat, empty, and inflectionless when he finally replied, "Its late Jim. I need to go to bed."

Len kept his eyes averted as Jim searched his face, "Look, I'll be good. We can go right to bed. I just want to hold you, okay. It's been a shitty day and…."

"I saw, Jim."

It would prove a small consolation to Len, later on, that he had actually managed to render Jim Kirk speechless. The kid's eyes had panicked and he had repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, considering and dismissing empty explanations. But Len was tired, so tired, and all he wanted was his bed and a deep, dreamless sleep. He reached towards the comm button.

Jim threw up his hands, stumbling over his words, "Wait, Bones, look, I…I can explain…I mean…It's not what….."

"Goodnight, Jim."

The screen went black.

* * *

The next day was a waiting game for Leonard McCoy. The ship was in transit and the sickbay completely deserted. Never one to overburden himself with unnecessary company, Len put the rest of the staff on call and locked himself away in his office to catch up on some paperwork. And he waited, impatiently, for the inevitable visitor to find his way into sickbay.

But when the doors slid open, it wasn't Jim.

It was Spock.

He strode into the sickbay with a faint air of aggression. Leonard had little familiarity with the mating rights of Vulcans, the entire society keeping the specifics shrouded in secrecy, but he remembered reading something in Xenobiology about the ceremonial challenge for a mate that had been common among the Vulcans in the pre-Reform era. It was supposed to be a challenge to the death and Leonard had the distinct impression he was walking into just such a situation now. His suspicion was only confirmed when Spock keyed the door shut with the first officer's override. No one could get in now but Jim.

Well, Spock might be a Vulcan but Leonard McCoy was an irascible southern asshole who could hold his own in pretty much any fight. And he wasn't going down lightly. But there was something to be said for cool-headed strategy in a fight with such high stakes and he moved out of his office with a non-committal, "How can I help you, Commander?"

Spock pinned him with a withering glance but his voice was calm, almost light, when he replied, "Do not play coy, Doctor. It does not suit you."

Leonard bristled, "Fine, if you want to be straight forward, I'll rephrase. What the fuck do you want, Spock?"

The Vulcan looked triumphant and Leonard was afraid he might have walked into a trap. Well, it was too late to back down so he waited while Spock spelled out his request.

"Dr. McCoy, I am aware of the fact that you and the captain have been involved in a relationship of a sexual nature for nearly a year, correct?"

Len burned at that. Damn, the Vulcan was good at passive aggression. He didn't yell or threaten, didn't lie. He just took one of the most precious things in Len's life and made it about empty sex. And just how was he supposed to respond? Argue, and sound like a petulant child, or agree and ignore everything he and Jim had shared for three years? He fucking _hated_ Vulcans!

Len clenched a fist but managed to keep his internal struggle dampened for the moment. Lifting his chin, he calmly replied, "We've been in a relationship, yes." There, nice, vaguely layered answer. The Vulcan should be jealous.

But Spock was apparently the master of aggressive aggression, too and in the throw-down for Jim Kirk, he was planning on pulling no punches. "Indeed. And you are also aware that the captain and I are engaged in a relationship of a sexual nature. I am curious regarding your thoughts on the matter."

Oh, he wanted to hit this guy! It didn't even matter that it would probably hurt him more than Spock. But that would be going exactly where Spock wanted him and he'd be damned if he'd let it be that easy.

"Coy doesn't suit you either, Mr. Spock. Why don't you just say what you mean? I'm sure that would be the most logical approach."

A low burn appeared in the Vulcan's eyes and Leonard knew he'd scored a point. It only threw Spock off his game for a second, though and the he took several steps towards Leonard, caging him slightly against his office door. Leonard was not in the mood to be pinned and took several steps forward himself. Definitively invading the other's space, they starred each other down, rampant dislike rolling off of them in waves and puddling at their feet. Spock swept a careful gaze over the doctor, considering his course of action before speaking.

"Dr. McCoy, through my older counterpart, of whom I know you are aware, the captain and I have come into some intriguing knowledge regarding our relationship in my counterpart's world. We shared a friendly relationship which evolved into a romantic attachment but in both forms, this connection allowed us to be uniquely effective in a way we could not have been as two independent beings.

In light of this knowledge, the captain and I made a mutual decision to pursue a friendship, to test our compatibility. The results, I believe have been obvious to everyone. This ship has functioned with unsurpassed efficiency, the crew has experienced a great deal of the "chemistry" you humans are so very fond of, and the captain and I have developed a friendship of sufficient depth to lead to its inevitable conclusion.

I assure you, Doctor, the captain is as aware of this as I. He is, however, burdened by a prior attachment that his counterpart did not share, a previous relationship with you. You are an observant individual, Doctor, and an intelligent one; however you may see fit to infuse your intellect with emotionalism. You are perfectly aware of how this will end."

Leonard was momentarily rendered speechless. He hadn't been expecting quite that much honesty. But his initial anger was dampened by a rising tide of despair because he had a sinking sensation that Spock was right. He had seen them together, seen the look on Jim's face as he kissed those lips, the peaceful satisfaction in his eyes. Had he ever done that for him? And would it matter anyway? Jim had cheated on him. Jim had chosen someone else. What possible good could come from fighting when the battle was already lost?

But he'd be damned if he'd tell Spock that.

"So, you know this all from a mind meld?"

"Indeed."

"But you can't show it to me?"

"Not can't, Doctor. But I would be unwilling."

Len bristled. "So based on this meld, you assume that you can provide him with everything he needs. What a human needs."

"Indeed, Doctor. Because, I will approach this relationship logically and assessingly. I will not impart my own emotional needs and explanations onto the man I love."

The bubble of rage that had slowly built up in his chest finally exploded, "Exactly! You'd give him _no _emotion because you _can't_! And you think that would be enough for someone like Jim Kirk? Dammit, man! Do you even know how to love?"

The reaction was not instantaneous. In fact, a solid three seconds slipped past as Len glared daggers and Spock gazed fixedly at the floor. For a brief, fleeting moment Leonard thought he might have secured a victory but that slight sense of triumph was dashed when Spock suddenly surged forward and shackled his underarms with hot, bruising hands. Len was a doctor, he was well aware of Vulcans' superior strength but textbook knowledge didn't compare to the intimate feeling of being lifted up, feet dangling like a small child, and carried six paces to be thrust against the bulkhead.

Leonard nearly panicked, a sense of intense vulnerability washing over him. How could he ever fight against this? The son of a bitch's arms weren't even shaking as he pressed him firmly against the wall. The doctor flailed, hands trying to find some purchase before finally, reluctantly, coming to settle lightly on the Vulcan's forearms. Feeling slightly more secure, he starred down into the face of the enraged first officer.

Spock's features were smooth and unblemished. In fact, almost his entire countenance bespoke a complete calm. If not for the slight compression of his typically full lips, he would've appeared totally at ease. That was, of course, until Len looked into his eyes.

They burned. There was no other word for it. And they locked onto the doctor's, green drowning in the molten blackness. Leonard felt lost, engulfed and completely without the will to resist as he was slowly lowered and pressed into the bulkhead by the Vulcan's hot form. The eyes didn't blink, didn't glance away for a moment, not when Spock forced his knee between Leonard's thighs, pinning him bodily, not when he released one of Leonard's arms and reached up to grasp his chin. No, they just continued to burn, to pin, to dominate and the doctor felt himself drifting, as if he were no longer in his own body. By the time he had regained enough conscious thought to panic, he had lost the physical control necessary to launch any kind of defense.

He was awash in heat, in scorching sensation. And who the _hell_ had ever started the ridiculous bullshit that Vulcan's didn't have any emotions? Leonard could have laughed at the irony if it wasn't currently pouring over him in a torrent of fire; rage, determination, frustration, even pity…….and love…..for Jim. Leonard's breath caught in his throat, his heart rate accelerated. What the hell was going on? Spock was projecting far too much into his subdued rival and Leonard McCoy the physician began to realize the danger. Desperately, he grappled at the hot chest and shoulders pressing into him and cried, "Spock! Stop! You're _hurting _me!" He starred imploringly into the angry black pools that were mere inches from his own.

The change was subtle but immediate, as if a stove burner had been turned down a few notches. Leonard felt his feet finally come to rest flat on the deck as Spock's whirling, suffocating emotions pulled back, if not completely away. He caught his breath, trying to regain his composure, only to lose both again as Spock tightened his grip on Leonard face and pulled them practically nose to nose. Perusing the doctor with eyes that had barely cooled, he said, "Tell me, Dr. McCoy, are you or aren't you divorced?"

Leonard tried to pull away but he was surrounded by Vulcan on every side. Glaring, he retorted, "You know that I am." Fury rose in his chest and he sucked in breath to launch into a qualifying argument but Spock railroaded right by with his next question, "Since the divorce, how often have you seen your only child? Joanna, correct?"

It was a gut twisting inquiry, delivered in a cool, detached tone. Not that Len should've been surprised. He'd seen before how willing Spock was to go straight for the guts. Still, he bristled in response. "What god-damn business is this of yours?"

Spock's eyes relaxed another few degrees and the heavy Vulcan emotions wafting all over Leonard began to take on the cool, cloying, slimy feel of disdain. "It is quite simple, Doctor. Our captain, whom you claim to love, whose mental and emotional health you say you wish to protect, has a deep seated fear of being abandoned or rejected. As his friend, doctor, and ….ahem…lover, you know this to be true, do you not?" Spock paused and quirked an eyebrow at Leonard who huffed a frustrated breath but nodded his head, "This is merely theoretical information to me, of course, but as a fellow human, you, I am sure, are aware of the deep-seated, emotional implications these types of events could have on our captain," Again he paused but this time Leonard only glared at him murderously.

"Now, doctor, if we honestly wish to assess which of us would be the more appropriate companion for our captain, we need to look at the evidence before us. We have just established his biggest fears and now it would only be logical to examine which of us would be more likely to further abuse those fears." Spock leaned in towards the helpless human, gently pushing his head back against the bulkhead, "I, Doctor, was raised in a solid family unit and when I left home, it was with the blessing of my parents, a reluctant blessing perhaps but there none the less. I maintain contacts with all my past instructors and acquaintances and I have managed to continue a healthy friendship with Lt. Uhura.

In contrast, you have a poor relationship with your family which you did nothing to remedy after the failure of your marriage and the death of your father. Of your own admission, you were distant and neglectful of your spouse, you missed the birth of your child, and when your wife engaged in a liason and terminated your marriage, you simply left your daughter behind.

Now, Doctor, based on the evidence, who do you believe would be the more appropriate choice for our captain? You, the man with a long, consistent history of abandoning those with whom you have relationships, or me, who has never left anyone behind?"

That was it. Someone had turned the stove burner back up and the heat and rage was pouring out of both men, intermixing, saturating them in compromised emotional upheaval. Tears sprang into Leonard's eyes as Spock flung his most basic insecurities in his face. Who was he to argue? Weren't all of these things true? And as for his family, well Jim didn't even know the half of it. And that was the real clincher here, wasn't it. These truths that Spock was wielding like scalpels were his deepest secrets, told only to Jim. How would Spock know about them unless Jim had betrayed his trust? His father? Jim had told Spock about his father?

He'd lost him. It was that simple. This betrayal was just another confirmation that Jim had chosen Spock. One lone tear escaped and slipped down as his cheek as he closed his eyes in resignation. Fine. He'd step back and let Jim go. He'd turn away, like he always did. Spock was right. The evidence was against him. His track record spoke for itself and Spock had never……..but wait.

The thought came unbidden and rose up on a wave of bubbling emotions. He was not a cruel or vindictive person but the festering wound re-opened by the mention of his father seized hold of his tongue and before he could even stop himself, he heard the words clearly, "Your mother. You left her behind in a hole on Vulcan."

For a second, the intense heat was gone, replaced by a glacial surge of murderous intent. It lasted only a second but it froze Leonard to the core just in time for a second wave of blast furnace intensity to bombard him. Oh, he had thought he'd pissed Spock off before, had he? The hand on his chin grasped him in a chokehold, yanking him back off his feet and smashing him back into the bulkhead. Stars swam in front of his eyes and a slow building agony spread through his chest as oxygen deprivation began to set in. He grasped desperately at the hand throttling him but was unable to break the Vulcan's stranglehold. Unconsciousness threatened but was held at bay by a hard, commanding voice which ordered, "Look at me, Doctor!"

The eyes were once again black pools of fire and Leonard found himself falling back into their depths. He felt calm and lethargic as Spock carefully lowered him back to the deck and fisted his hand in the blue medical tunic, yanking him forward until they stood face to face. The Enterprise, sickbay, his own body fell away until all there was were those eyes and a voice that said, "That mouth of yours, Doctor, has once again caused you trouble. Do you think the captain really needs that acidic tongue in his life? If you ever speak of my mother again, be assured that I will remove it from your head.

This is over, Doctor. This war of words you imagine you are waging with me has come to an end. You will not speak to me again of anything unrelated to the business of this ship. As for the captain, you know the truth. We have examined the evidence and you have been judged inferior. You are not what he needs. Perhaps for once you can run away, as you do so well, for the right reasons and leave him in peace. Because if you do not run on your own, I will feel compelled to encourage you."

With that, the Vulcan released him and took several steps back. An odd snapping sounded in Leonard ears and he shook his head slightly to clear it of the strange, residual fog. Spock was concentrating hard on a spot on the floor and the flame in his eyes slowly sank away. The eyes that looked up at Leonard were cold, hard and unyielding and they promised that Spock's words hadn't been threats but guarantees. With a final, disdainful quirk of his eyebrow, Spock spun and strode out of sickbay. Len clasped his trembling hands and quickly retreated to his office and a bottle of brandy, shaken to the core.

Ten minutes later, it finally dawned on him. From the moment Spock first touched him, neither one of them had moved their lips.


	3. Chapter Two

**Paramount owns Star Trek. I now own a Leonard McCoy action figure that does NOT look like Karl Urban, alas.**

**Chapter Two:**

Generally speaking, it took a lot to get Jim Kirk mad. Assholes in bars were one thing, but among a group of intelligent individuals he was a pretty patient guy. But if one more member of his crew asked him if they could _help_ or _take care of that for him_ he was going knock their goddamned head off.

Because no one else was touching Bones' stuff!

He'd already handled the CMO's office in sickbay. Chapel hadn't even offered assistance, just stood in the doorway and answered whatever questions he'd had in a voice that parodied respect and dripped disdain. Jim said nothing. Christine was Bones' girl through and through and she would consider it her personal mission to remind him on a daily basis that his doctor was _never_ going to forgive him. He glanced around the empty cabin, at the half-packed boxes, and shut his eyes. As if he could ever forget.

The sharp, tearing pain in his chest was back again, bitter and familiar. He welcomed the pain, basked in it like a penitent. For Jim, it was the visceral manifestation of Bones' absence. Sinking down on the mattress, he smoothed his hands over the hand-sewn nine patch quilt, a thin slice of Georgia that Bones had dragged into space. Biting his lip, Jim ran his finger over the unique stitch patterns, so familiar under his hands. This quilt had been a balm to him on nights when the weight of captaincy had seemed overwhelming, when he had traced the pattern where it lay over his cantankerous doctor's stomach or back, soothed by his scent and the rise and fall of his chest. He needed that, the centering, the peace, so badly but the source was gone, the quilt powerless without the man himself, and the horrible, empty _wrongness_ of that was ripping Jim apart.

He sensed his presence a moment before the door actually opened. A sharper ray of light from the corridor sliced through the dim expanse of the cabin, broken by a long, lanky shadow. Jim didn't look up and the shadow didn't move. Spock was no fool and he would not provoke Jim's fragile calm by entering the doctor's room.

"I am not here to offer my assistance, if that is troubling you. I would not presume."

Jim met his eyes with a weak nod. "I know that. I think I'm gonna give it a rest for tonight anyway. We have two days until we rendezvous with the shuttle," he stepped into the corridor and initiated the captain's override on the door. No one was getting in there.

Jim took a step down the corridor but paused as he noticed Spock starring thoughtfully at cabin door, his eyes strangely distant.

"What is it?"

"I am merely contemplating his motives. To have timed it so carefully…."

"He just wanted to make sure there was no possible way for either of us to go down there and drag him back. I'm sure there are a dozen different regulations you could've pulled out of your ass to muck up the transfer. He's no dope."

Spock nodded, his eyes still locked on the door. Jim exhaled loudly and pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose. "Spock, what's this about? I don't get it."

"In truth, I am unsure," he replied, finally tearing his eyes away to look at Jim, "I confess that I feel a sense of……."

"Guilt?"

"That is a facet of my current emotional makeup, yes."

"So, you admit that you're feeling emotions…..about Bones."

Spock's face remained calm but his eyes were pained, "I feel, Jim, many emotions regarding this loss, emotions I am currently unable to explain. And yes, I do consider it a loss, a surprisingly difficult one, and I am quite aware of the irony."

Jim folded his hands and pressed them against his eyes. "Look, I can't do this now. I just spent half the shift up to my elbows in his stuff and it fucking _hurts_ so can we just go to bed, please?" Turning on his heels, he strode down the corridor.

Spock starred after the captain's retreating form before fixing his eyes once again on the cabin before him. A sudden compulsion to touch the door seized him and he lifted his hand and hovered momentarily over the surface. But no, it was a senseless invasion to which he had no right. Retracting his hand, he followed Jim down the hall.

* * *

They made love that night in Spock's cabin, their destination of choice in the last few weeks. Jim preferred it, mostly because the room held no unexpected reminders of Bones.

He pushed up into the thrusting body atop him, meeting and answering each movement, burying his face into the exposed throat, nuzzling and inhaling Spock's unique scent. His arms and legs were wrapping and clinging, answering a compulsive need to touch and touch and feel. Running his hand through the thick, black hair, he pressed his lips to a sensitive ear and let Spock hear each gasp and moan. And when the world finally tilted and he came, panting desperate nonsense, he grabbed the Vulcan in a death grip, kissed him thoroughly, and told him that he loved him.

He meant it, too. That was the terrifying, wonderful, mind-fucking truth of it. He was completely, inalterably in love with his first officer, his friend and knew that the sentiment was reciprocated wholeheartedly. It was clear in Spock's words, but also in the way he ran his lips over Jim's face as he thrust to his own fulfillment, in the way he threaded their hands together and held them to his lips as he collapsed onto Jim's chest and lay there in a satisfied daze. Jim welcomed the weight, the gentle breath that ghosted over his knuckles. It drove home to him how good and full and _right _this was .

It was an hour later, as Spock meditated in his outer room, that a sleepless Jim revisited the strange juxtaposition that had been his life for the last five months. All day long he could maintain the smiling, shining face of a starship captain, but on solitary nights, the conflict in his mind would rear its ugly head. How could one person be so damn indecisive? How could they simultaneously feel so full and so very fucking _empty_?

James T. Kirk knew he was supposed to be with Spock, believed it with an unchallengeable certainty. They were supposed to meet, become friends. This progression would allow them to be more than the sum of their parts, to accomplish truly remarkable and worthwhile things. He and Spock had dissected every nuance of their encounters with his counterpart and had mutually decided to pursue a friendship to see if the unique chemistry the older man had spoken of was true in this universe, too. And it was, powerfully so. They had melded and it soon became obvious that they shared a rare mental compatibility, a comfort level with the other's mind that was unusual among Vulcans and damn near shocking among humans. And it hadn't taken very long for the rest of the pieces to fall into place. Friends, the other Spock had said. Yeah, the kind of friendship on which the deepest of love-matches must be based. They had agreed not to ask, not to pry, but Spock had been convinced that their counterparts had been lovers and bondmates and had set out to convince Jim that they could, and must be the same.

There was, of course, only one small problem. Jim was in love with their CMO.

Not that it had made a damn bit of difference but Jim had punched too many walls lately in fits of frustration. Now he just sat and swallowed his misery like medicine because really, who was he kidding. This was all his fucking fault.

He'd known he was going to fall in love with Spock. His subconscious had acknowledged it as early as his Starfleet hearing, recognized that once that pointy-eared bastard had breached his defenses and gotten into his head, Jim would never let him out again. Because that was the way it was supposed to be; he and Spock in a crowded room yet completely by themselves, seizing the situation, attacking it together while everyone else fell away. Well, no, not everyone. _Not_ Bones. And perhaps Jim was spoiled forever because he'd gotten one small taste of it in that moment; of Spock in his face and Bones at his back.

Jim sighed. In the end it didn't fucking matter if he believed in no win situations or not because he wasn't the only damn person in the world and he wished to god he wasn't so late getting to that particular table. Maybe he'd have realized that when you loved two people, you had to fucking choose. You couldn't just pretend it was all okay, pretend that you weren't cheating on your doctor just because you hadn't actually fucked your Vulcan yet.

Until, of course, you did fuck your Vulcan….and your doctor saw.

Spock had understood the stakes, had realized that if they wanted this incredible thing that lay between them, then Jim would have to end things with Bones. He had antagonized and belittled the other man, attempting to draw Bones' hatred away from Jim and onto himself, despite Jim's protests. But Spock was not human and could not grasp Jim's illogical and contradictory need to simultaneously own up and hold on. He couldn't put it off on Spock. If he was going to break Bones' heart, he had to do it honestly. But dammit, he just hadn't been able to let the doctor go. The very thought seemed to raise some sort of instinctual rebellion in him.

But then Spector had died and Bones had seen and……..

Jim sat up and rubbed his face. He'd been such a raw mess that night, pissed off at no one and everyone. All he'd wanted was to grab both of them and hold on tight and he'd resented the hell out of the _rules_ that said he couldn't. He'd needed to get away, find a place where he didn't have to be the captain for awhile and some sick, selfish part of him had whispered that it was just _fine_ to bring Spock to his and Bones' hideout and accept his offer of a meld, that it _wasn't_ the queen mother of all betrayals. He hadn't consciously expected it to lead to sex but that was really just willful denial. He knew himself well enough, knew how he craved true emotional intimacy to heal the aches in his heart. He learned that from Bones.

And Dammit, _dammit_, he should've fucking _gone_ to Bones. He'd needed Jim as badly as Jim needed him that night and that probably hurt more than anything else; to have failed as a lover _and _a friend.

He had stared at the darkened viewscreen for whole minutes after Bones cut the connection, his mouth slack and his eyes wild with panic, before bolting to his feet and racing down the corridor. The master strategist had no plan aside from getting to his doctor and begging on his knees if necessary.

He had stood outside Bones' cabin semi-patiently for five minutes before desperation had kicked in and he keyed in the lock. The room had been empty, the bed untouched. Undaunted, Jim had sunk down and slept there, determined to wait him out but at twenty minutes til shift change, Bones still hadn't returned.

Jim had known his doctor for four years but he had never before realized what a talent Bones had for evasion. Through an elaborate series of shift arrangements and crew placement, the good doctor was managing to make it impossible for Jim to catch up to him. Six days had passed since Spector's death and Jim's nerves were starting to fray. But Jim Kirk was still an exceptional chess player and he knew that Bones couldn't hide forever. He just had to be patient and wait for an opening to present itself.

Alas, an intergalactic clusterfuck had derailed his plans.

Jim had been diligently pouring over navigation projections with Sulu and Chekov, grateful for the distraction, when Uhura had received the message from Starfleet Medical. It was encrypted for the highest level security clearance and intended for the eyes of no one save the captain, first officer and CMO of the Enterprise. As he commed sickbay, Jim had actually felt a profound sense of relief. Bones couldn't avoid him now. Sure enough, the doctor arrived promptly on the Bridge and followed Jim into the conference room. Spock was already seated inside and as Jim initiated the security locks, the tension was almost palpable.

Reaching his computer, Jim entered his security code and engaged the decoding sequence. Glancing across the table, he stared hard, silently willing the doctor to meet his eyes, to give him the smallest window to express his remorse, but Bones kept his gaze fixed on the floor. The computer chimed and Jim turned his attention back to the screen as the unflinching voice of Rear Admiral Thomas Cody, Assistant Surgeon General filled the room.

"Access to the information contained on this tape is to be strictly limited to the following personnel; James T. Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise, Spock, Commander, First Officer, USS Enterprise, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander, Chief Medical Officer, USS Enterprise.

Captain Kirk,

On Stardate 2258.276, Starfleet received an encrypted request for aid from the Vulcan High Council currently located on the New Vulcan colony planet. As you are all aware, the planet has been occupied by approximately 96% of the Vulcan Diaspora and operating at life sustaining levels since Stardate 2258.192. Security and medical teams were dispatched and landed on the planet two days later.

What they discovered is potentially devastating to the survival of the Vulcan remnant. To summarize, the population of the New Vulcan colony appears to have developed a debilitating allergic reaction to an as yet unidentified biological element on the colony planet. 99.2% of the population has been infected, including the entire Council and all Vulcan medical personnel.

Our preliminary findings are vague at best but our projections are as follows; the reaction targets the respiratory system, causing temporary constriction of the airways and lung alveoli. The bouts of constriction gradually become longer and more severe as the disease takes root. The disease is non-communicable between life forms but removal from the planet does not alleviate the symptoms. The rate of decline varies somewhat depending on the age and overall health of the afflicted individual but all our projections indicate that if left untreated the disease will reach a 100% mortality rate for all planet-side Vulcans within the next eight months."

Spock pushed his chair back with an angry screech. Hands fisted, back rigid as a post, he stalked across the small room and faced the door. Jim smacked the pause button and starred across the table at Bones. "A 100% mortality rate? They're telling us that in eight months every Vulcan on that planet will be _dead_?"

Bones didn't look up but he nodded his head carefully, eyes dismayed and mouth compressed into a grim line. Across the room, Spock glasped his hands behind his back, knuckles white and strained. "Captain," he said, "Please continue the tape." Jim hit play.

"The New Vulcan colony is in a uniquely vulnerable position and has requested that Starfleet proceed with rescue attempts in absolute secrecy. A contingent of the best medical researchers from all the Federation planets is being assembled at Starfleet Medical in an effort to find a cure. None of these representatives know the details of the project they are joining.

The USS Enterprise has been selected to rendezvous with the representatives and ferry them to Earth. They will be converging at Starbase 23 in four days. Dr. McCoy, an encrypted file will be sent directly to you at 0730 containing a detailed breakdown of Starfleet's present medical findings. You are to familiarize yourself with these contents in order to brief the researchers when they arrive. You are further instructed not to share this knowledge with anyone, including the other members of your staff.

Captain, secrecy is of the utmost importance in this situation. I will not impart unnecessary information but will tell you that factions exist who would seek to use this development for their benefit. In light of your first officer's personal connection, we trust you to be the soul of discretion.

Commander Spock, Starfleet extends its sympathy. We intend to do everything possible to resolve this situation successfully.

You will keep us appraised of your progress.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Cody out."

A hollow silence hung in the room as the tape cut out.

Spock was still facing the door, back stiff, arms clasped tightly behind him. He finally managed to choke out a quiet, "My father," before falling silent again. Standing, Jim moved to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Words seemed damned inadequate and he dug his fingers gently into the taught muscle, sending supportive thoughts through his touch.

A chair creaked as Bones stood up. With carefully averted eyes, he mumbled a flat, quiet, "Excuse me," as he sidestepped Spock towards the door.

It would occur to Jim later that he couldn't recall actually seeing Spock move. He just heard the crash as the heel of the Vulcan's right hand slammed into the bulkhead two inches from Bones face, effectively blocking his way. As Jim watched in shock, Spock lunged forward, slapping his left hand onto the desktop, pinning Bones into the corner. The doctor's fight or flight response sent him backpedaling into the wall, putting as many inches as possible between himself and the suddenly enraged Vulcan before him. Their eyes, burning black and green, latched onto each other like magnets.

Standing in a daze, Jim entertained the brief, flickering notion that he should interject himself between his officers but the thought was sludgy and quickly overwhelmed by the surge of electric energy volleying between Bones and Spock. It pinged off the walls, covering Jim, causing hair to stand on end in a surprisingly pleasant way. He starred, hypnotized at the two faces that were locked on each other in unblinking synchronicity. His hand still rested on Spock's shoulder and fragments of confusing feelings that were not his own drifted into his mind. Spock's pain and fear had been sideswiped by rampant fury at the thought that Bones would _leave._

A flicker of movement drew Jim's eyes and he realized Spock had let go of the desk. It provided Bones with a possible escape but the doctor didn't notice, his eyes still fixed on the Vulcan. Stepping closer, Spock raised his hand, hovering right over the doctor's cheek as Bones let his head fall back submissively against the wall. Jim recognized this. It was the gesture both Spock's had used to initiate a meld on him.

And Bones was going to let him do it!

The computer behind them beeped and went dark. Spock froze and suddenly the spell was broken. The doctor blinked and shrank back as the commander retreated, pulling his offending hand behind his back and locking his arms together. Turning stiffly, he nodded to a stupefied Jim with a curt, "Excuse me, Captain," and stalked out the room without a backwards glance.

Bones was starring blindly across the table, his eyes still slightly glazed. Shaking his head, he concentrated on the wall and said, "Captain, I need to report to sickbay and begin some preparations." He stepped towards the door but Jim threw off his confusion just in time to reach out and shackle the doctor's arm.

"Wait a second! Bones, Jesus, are you alright? And what the _hell_ was that about?"

The doctor refused to meet his eyes. "He got really bad news. People react in strange ways sometimes. It didn't mean anything." His voice carried a noticeably defensive tinge. "Captain, please let go of my arm."

Jim studies his face. Didn't mean anything, his ass. Something was wrong but he knew that expression. Bones wasn't going to tell him anything unless he was ready and pushing the situation wouldn't do any good. And there were bigger issues at play right now. Releasing his arm, he leaned against the wall. "Bones, I….."

"Dammit, I don't have time for personal problems now. I have a shitload of work to do to help save an endangered people from extinction. This shit will just have to wait! Can I go…..Captain?"

Captain. He'd never hated the word before but it was wrong on Bones' tongue, hateful. Pulling himself up straight, he muttered a stiff, "Dismissed," and watched as his doctor stalked off the Bridge.

* * *

It had taken eighty-three hours for the Enterprise to reach Starbase 23 and Jim had spent almost all of it with Spock. The Vulcan was gamefully attempting to maintain his façade of cool detachment but fear and stress were starting to take their toll. He had contacted his father to confirm his illness and the older man had explained that he saw no purpose in burdening his son with concerns he could do nothing about. Spock accepted the reasons as logical but Jim could tell he did not appreciate being kept in the dark.

Logical or not, Spock was hurting and afraid and although Jim made every effort possible, he could still sense the subtle fraying of the Vulcan's typically sharp edges. He clung to Jim as a lifeline as his attempts at meditation failed to calm his fears but they could both sense it wasn't quite enough. Jim could feel Spock looking to him for a comfort he didn't know how to provide and he held on to the Vulcan twice as hard to compensate.

He had good instincts and he usually trusted them but Jim found himself backed into a corner. There was only one person he could think of who always knew what to say in these situations, always knew how to assist with another person's suffering but he couldn't exactly tell Spock to go talk to _Bones_, could he. He knew his doctor well enough to realize that he would put his own mental health far after that of a patient but Jim would be damned if he would be responsible for causing Bones more pain.

In the end though, his indecision had been for nothing. Forty-seven hours after storming out of Jim's ready-room, Spock suddenly got out of their bed and strode out the door and into sickbay, clad in nothing but a meditation robe. Jim should have been shocked but for some reason it felt completely expected. And the hesitant but resigned expression that graced the good doctor's face when Spock walked in the door and requested a fitness for duty evaluation suggested that he had expected it _too. _In fact, Jim could have sworn that Bones had been waiting for them. Well, expected or not, he still noticed Bones' apprehension and the way he kept a bed or tray between them at all times. But despite this foreboding image, Jim couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. Hope for what, he wasn't sure, but as Bones reluctantly followed Spock into his office, he suddenly had the sense that maybe all wasn't lost after all.

He hadn't asked about what had transpired in the office but Spock emerged with his emotional vertigo back under control. He was balanced enough to initiate a meld and Jim was finally able to pour the feelings of love and comfort he so desperately needed into the carefully guarded psyche. Spock improved but Jim noticed he made daily excuses, all perfectly legitimate and in the name of the Vulcan race, to go down to sickbay and engage in conversation with Bones. Jim kept an eye on these exchanges, feeling an inexplicable sense of investment in them, as if they somehow held his very future in their hands. There was nothing remarkable about these conversations, at least not to the casual observer, but Jim knew these two men like the back of his hand and this just wasn't _them._ There was no snarking, no viscous passive-aggression. Sure, that could be attributed to Bones' hurt and resignation, Spock's emotional upheaval, but somehow Jim suspected there was more to it because pain and heartbreak wouldn't explain the undercurrent of fear Jim sensed from Bones. He wasn't leaving them unsupervised until he figured it out.

The Enterprise's rendezvous at Starbase 23 was quick and perfunctory. They soon found themselves on a course towards Earth with nine of the Federation's best doctors and xenobiologists. Jim ran through the motions of an official diplomatic greeting but he could tell these hands-on individuals were not interested in pomp and circumstance and quickly turned them over to his CMO. Bones was working himself ragged trying to brief the group without the help of his staff and Jim hadn't been the least surprised when Spock had mentioned the doctor's haggard appearance and requested to be assigned to sickbay to assist in the briefing process.

He just didn't know what he was dealing with here. Spock had spent the better part of months trying to push Bones away and now that he'd finally succeeded, he turned around and kept drawing the doctor back. And he was damn evasive when Jim asked about it, citing the crew's need of a healthy CMO as a logical excuse for his concern. Jim wondered and worried but ultimately didn't have time to over think the situation. They'd be arriving at Earth in twenty-two hours.

In an effort to quell the gossip mill that was circulating around the strange delegation aboard the ship, Jim held a formal diplomatic dinner party on the night they pulled into orbit, covering the scientists in a shroud of normalcy for the benefit of his curious crew. The party was unexpectedly lively as the scientists relaxed from under the burden of assumed responsibility and geared up for the fight they had ahead of them.

Nursing a brandy, he carefully observed the diverse individuals who had been tasked with saving Spock's species. They were competent and intelligent, which was to be expected, but they all exuded a sense of warmth and compassion that Jim found remarkably assuring. Apparently old Tom Cody knew what he was doing. These people weren't courting fame or recognition. They were all like his doctor, motivated by a need to heal.

As he scanned the room again, Jim felt a tightening in his chest. Among this group, there was one individual who raised his ire, a gregarious Betazoid biologist named Jovanni Tor. For all intents the young doctor seemed as genuine as the other members of the delegation, but there was something about him, a fabricated quality, that struck Jim as suspicious. Of course, his judgment might have been clouded by the obvious way Tor had latched on to his Bones. The two were currently engaged in an intimate conversation and Jim, an expert on body language, could read the intent rolling off the Betazoid. It rankled him but who was he to interfere. He'd made his own bed. Technically, Bones could screw the guy right here on the buffet table and all Jim could yell about was propriety and protocol!

In all honesty, though, Bones didn't look too happy to be the focus of Tor's attention. He was attempting to be polite, a rare feat for Leonard McCoy, but Jim could see his tension and had just resolved to intervene when the door slid open and Spock walked into the room. His eyes locked onto Bones, taking in the doctor's uncomfortable expression and he marched across the room. With no more than a curt, "Excuse us, doctor," to the surprised Tor, he grasped Bones' elbow and towed him firmly away. Eyes wide with surprise, Jim plunked down his glass and followed them into the corridor.

They'd taken less than five steps when Bones stopped and twisted in Spock's grasp. Jim could sense a reluctance in the Vulcan but Spock released him nonetheless. Taking two steps backwards, Bones whispered furiously, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spock's tone remained level, though the smoldering burn Jim was starting to associate with the doctor was back with a fury, "You appeared distressed and in need of assistance."

"I was not in need of your damned assistance. Either of you!" The glare Bones shot at them could probably have slain a Klingon. He turned back towards the door before rounding on them both again. "Look, I don't know what the hell your game is but I am _not_ playing it. You too have each other now. Fine! But you stay the hell away from me, at least until I can get the hell away from you!"

He had stormed back into the dining room, leaving Jim and Spock to follow in his wake. Jim had watched him throughout the meal, carefully avoiding Spock, Tor and himself with the deftness of a champion juggler. But as the conversation at the table turned back towards the situation on New Vulcan, Jim began to realize that it wasn't just the three of them who seemed to want a piece of his doctor.

"Dr. McCoy," spoke up Philip Settle, the human microbiologist chosen to head the project," you've spent the past week educating us about this disease. I've listened carefully because I'm aware of the expertise you bring to the table. Are you all aware that the good doctor here is responsible for curing the formerly fatal terran disease Signet Syndrome?"

A general murmur of admiration emanated from the other guests but Jim saw Bones grip the edge of the table. His mind began racing through possible ways to switch the conversation topic because his doctor hated, _hated_ any mention of the Signet cure. Glancing across the table, he took in the concern in Spock's eyes. Spock? But how did he know….."

"Dr. McCoy, since you bring a rare expertise to the table, I'd be interested to hear how you would approach this particular disease?" Settle and the rest of the delegation looked at Bones with interest.

Jim wasn't particularly surprised when Bones began laying out a rudimentary plan of approach for the team's research. That would be Leonard McCoy, always putting his own well-being behind that of others. And he'd probably written this research plan up as soon as he'd gotten the file, despite the miserable memories it would've dredged up, because people were dying and he could stop it. He certainly had the influence. The delegation was sitting around the table in rapt silence, hanging on to his every word.

Jim couldn't help but feel like he was watching the application of some hidden agenda. He knew Bones was a brilliant physician, that his medical mind would be an added boon to this delegation but how many damn geniuses did they need? He could see what Settle was up to. They wanted to take his doctor. Even with all the crazy ass missions Starfleet sent them on, they wanted to take away the asset that somehow managed to keep them all alive.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? For all his noble insinuations, he knew perfectly well that he wanted Bones to stay because he _needed_ Bones to stay. The situation was spiraling downward and he couldn't find a way to make heads or tails of it. And why? Because Bones was his sounding board, the one he went to when he couldn't find his way. Only he couldn't exactly do that when the doctor himself had become the crooked path. Jim grimaced. He could imagine that conversation. _Bones, I have a problem. Imagine there was this guy who cheated on his boyfriend with this other guy who he's pretty sure he loves, who he's destined to change the galaxy with, according, mind you, to some future version of the other guy ( the cheated with guy, not the cheated on guy, would you keep up) But the problem is, the first guy still loves his boyfriend and needs him because he really doesn't know how to change the galaxy without him. What do you think……hypothetically, of course._

He mulled this over as he sat in his cabin that night. Spock was seated stiffly on his bed, his eyes far away. And that was another fucking enigma he didn't need. He wanted to know what the hell was going on between his doctor and his Vulcan! Grabbing a chair, he pulled it over to his bed and sat down in front of his stoic first officer.

"Hey."

Spock continued to stare pensively at the wall, "Yes, Jim."

"I need you to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Bones. And I need you not to bullshit me. You know how much I love him, how much its fucking killing me that I hurt him so please. I don't understand it and I need to know if it's alright."

Spock had starred at him, his eyes dark and serious. "Jim, when you and I first realized the true nature of our connection, I told you that it would be illogical for you to attempt to maintain a relationship with the doctor, that it would cause him harm. I have come to some realizations recently that are causing me to reconsider this stance."

Jim stood up, glaring down at him, "What do you mean?"

Spock met his eyes, "We were attempting to recreate what our counterparts shared. Perhaps that is not the best course of action. I am secure in your attachment to me and you know I reciprocate it but you still care for the doctor and you seem unable to let go of those sentiments. This used to confuse me but recently I have discovered that I am not adverse to the doctor myself."

"Meaning _what_ exactly?"

"I believe the most logical course of action would be to expand our relationship to include the doctor. While not traditional among humans, small groups of multiple partners are typical in other Federation species. In fact, the practice was rather common in Vulcan's history."

Jim starred unblinking as the Vulcan recounted with clinical precision his own deepest desire, the one that had already been popped full of fucking holes. Suddenly, it was just too damn much and his concern for Spock's delicate mental condition was overthrown by his own blind fury.

"You're not fucking _adverse_ to him? And you couldn't have realized this a month ago, before I tore his fucking heart out and lit it on fire! You've got to be kidding me!" Spock closed his eyes as Jim paced the length of the cabin. "Do you even realize how bad I hurt him, Spock? For Christ's sake, he caught us fucking in the E.O., the room that was supposed to be our place, just him and me. And then I tried to crawl in his bed. And let's not even get started about how you've treated him. Or how I didn't do nearly enough to stop you! So, what exactly is your plan here? That he's just gonna forgive us and we can be a happy alternative couple for the rest of our lives. Cause if you think that, then you don't know Leonard McCoy!"

Spock's face was calm but his eyes were tired, even sad. "Jim, I am aware that there is a great deal of distress in this relationship and I accept responsibility for much of it. With your acquiescence, I wish to repair the damage."

And in a fit of pique most unbecoming a starship captain, Jim walked out the door.

He wandered the halls for most of the night, lost in thought but hours later he had arrived at a few conclusions. Yes, the relationship was currently in shambles but the bottom line was that a possibility he had abandoned now seemed reachable. He didn't know what it would take, probably a great deal of time and groveling, but he still didn't fucking believe in no-win situations and he was _going_ to win Bones back, no matter what it took and they were going to make this work.

Checking a chronometer in the officer's mess, he saw that it was nearly time for the delegation to beam down to Starfleet Medical. Tired but mentally at ease, he headed towards the transporter room.

Spock and Bones were already there with the assembled delegation. Jim shook hands politely with Dr. Settle before stepping away. As the elderly scientist stepped onto the platform, he turned and looked at Bones. "Dr. McCoy, why don't you join us for a quick tour of the facility? I understand you'll be docked for several days and we'd appreciate your insight and suggestions. It would only take a few hours. Would that be alright, Captain?"

Jim's stomach dropped as a wave of panic spread across his whole body. From the corner of his eye, he caught Spock's expression, saw his own sentiments mirrored back at him. But what the hell could he say. Of course you can borrow the doctor. Ha ha, yeah he hates transporters. Don't keep him too long now, ha ha, wink wink. And Bones was gone.

The official transfer paperwork was rushed through three days later, an addendum attached to their next mission order. Jim knew it was coming, had known fourteen hours after Bones had beamed down, when Admiral Cody himself had contacted the Enterprise to request that Dr. McCoy remain with the delegation for the remainder of the three day shipdock. And as he held it in his hand, Jim had felt strangely disembodied, as if the hand holding the stylus, signing away his Bones, were not his own. And it wasn't his feet that carried him off the Bridge, down the corridor and into the CMO's cabin. It wasn't his body that lay on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling.

But it was definitely his heart that was breaking.


	4. Chapter Three

**Paramount owns Star Trek. I own a recalcitrant cat named Mr. Darcy who chewed through my laptop charger. Bad Kitty!**

**Chapter Three:**

The average bi-pedal organism required a median of one thousand, two-hundred and forty-four steps to circumnavigate the main hull of the USS Enterprise. After four straight nights of pacing the corridors, however, Spock had managed to reduce his count by thirty-eight paces. Round and round he walked, counting, equivocating, measuring his stride, all in an attempt to keep his mind from the intrusive emotions brought on by two illogical humans. Tonight, though, as his step count faltered for the third time, Spock was forced to admit that his strategy was no longer working. And that really left him with only one option. He would have to confront and examine the feelings he had been attempting to hold at bay for the past month.

It was not as if he had simply denied these feelings. He was a sensible man and recognized that ignoring the complicated emotional embroilment in which he found himself would not yield positive results. He had attempted to assess these issues logically but this approach had proven to be most ineffective and he was continually plagued by sensations of fear, loss, and guilt. It interrupted his sleep, encroached on his duty shifts, and invaded his moments of intimacy with Jim.

Well, logic also dictated that one should not attempt the same faulty course of action over and over again, expecting different results. If walking laps around the ship offered his mind an outlet for self-examination, then he should and would take advantage of it! Even if he found it to be difficult.

And painful.

Sarek had once explained to him that emotions ran deep in the Vulcan race. It had taken him years to realize that just because logic offered serenity from emotions, it did not mean those emotions would never emerge. And they had, stridently, when confronted with one James Tiberius Kirk. Spock had found the man infuriating, enraging, and intriguing but at no time had their interactions been sedentary or dull. They made sense together, balanced each other and thus it was only logical that they be together. Nyota had seen it, recognized it before he had and had gently nudged him in the captain's direction. Dr. McCoy, however, had been stubbornly immoveable.

Something had changed that day in sickbay when he had put his hands on the doctor in anger. Somehow, the primal possessiveness typical of a Vulcan towards his intended mate had shifted and instead of a rival, McCoy had become the focus. And not in place of Jim, as he had momentarily feared, but right along side of him. It had shocked and intrigued Spock to realize that he could accept them both, could want them, _need_ them both. Jim had known, had been instinctually unable to let go of McCoy, while he had pushed the doctor away, antagonizing and threatening the man at every possible turn. An unstable mind, he had thought, hyper-emotional even for a human. What could such a man even offer?

Apparently, quite a bit. In his darkest moment, faced with the extinction of the Vulcan remnant and his last remaining parent, every instinct Spock possessed had reached out to McCoy for security and comfort. He had craved proximity, communication, physical _touch_ in a manner that would only be considered appropriate between bonded mates. He had even gone so far as to attempt a _meld_ with the man. And no matter how many laps he walked around this ship, he still could not understand why.

Spock was confused and unsettled but of one thing he was sure; he was _profoundly_ affected by the loss of Leonard McCoy and it could not continue. He needed answers and it was time he stopped avoiding the obvious source

***************

"It is comforting to see you, my young friend," said the elderly Vulcan in the viewscreen, "especially considering recent events."

Spock nodded his head respectfully. "I was relieved to discover that your time off-planet had slowed the illness. How is our father?"

His counterpart's mouth tightened. "He is as well as can be expected. He was in relatively good health before the onset. Right now, he remains strong."

They sat in pensive silence for a moment, their features schooled in near identical masks of controlled concern. Spock nearly sighed. His father, dying on New Vulcan, was so much easier to comprehend and process than the loss of Leonard McCoy. There were appropriate responses, arenas for emotional expression when dealing with a parent's illness. But he still couldn't reconcile his feelings regarding the good doctor and the time for prevaricating had passed. Meeting his counterpart's eye, he stated simply, "You once told me I could contact you if I needed advice. I find myself in a difficult position and would appreciate any guidance you could offer."

The elder's lips quirked in an understanding grin, "Well, friend, I cannot claim surprise. I assume that Leonard's absence has been quite difficult, but I am sure you understand the need."

Spock's head jerked up, eyes wild and confused. "_Leonard's _absence? Sir, you…….you seem to be………I am not……" A bubble of intense frustration rose up in Spock's chest as an inkling of realization began to crystallize. He knew what Jim Kirk meant to him in this reality and was certain their counterparts had shared the same relationship. If he and Jim also harbored feelings for McCoy, wasn't it perfectly logical that their counterparts had as well? But then why hadn't the ambassador said anything?

He was tired of Vulcan manners and restraint and if ever there was a moment to imitate McCoy's colorful verbiage, well, dammit, now was it. He wanted answers, truthful and complete, and he wanted them now. On the viewscreen, the ambassador appeared concerned. "My friend," he said carefully, "I do not mean to make assumptions. I admit I had expected certain truths to have become self-evident by now. Unless I somehow mis-read Jim."

Spock stared down at his own clenched fists, willing himself to stay calm. "No, sir, you were not the one who failed to see what was before him. But it also appears that I am making choices and acting without complete information. I do not wish to intrude on your privacy but I fear I have no other choice. If I ask you some personal questions, will you give me full disclosure?"

The elderly Vulcan smiled but his eyes seemed sad and resigned. "I had feared, my friend, saying anything lest I say too much or not enough. It seems that perhaps I have done both. I could offer excuses but I think the best way for me to make recompense is with honesty. You may ask me anything. I promise I will tell you the truth."

Spock nodded and took a breath. "What was the nature of your relationship with James Kirk?"

The ambassador smiled. "It was as you have suspected from the beginning, Commander. He was my friend, my lover, and eventually my bonded mate. But I believe you already realize this. Ask me what you really want to know, my friend. There is no place for reticence here."

"Indeed. Then please tell me, what was the nature of your relationship with Dr. Leonard McCoy?"

The older Vulcan eyed Spock carefully, his eyes hardening ever so slightly. "Commander, I have agreed to give you honest answers but your questions and demeanor are giving me cause for concern. So, please tell me first, what exactly is _your_ relationship with Leonard McCoy?"

The ambassador's protective tone only served to further confirm Spock's suspicions. Surging to his feet, the young Vulcan began pacing the small cubicle with quick, antagonized steps as the full measure of his actions crashed down upon his head. In his own stubborn blindness, he had broken things badly and he had no idea how to put them back together. But this was not the time to surrender to despair. If there was to be any chance of reconciliation with the doctor, he would require the help and trust of the man on the screen before him and the only way to win that trust was to convince the ambassador that he meant Leonard McCoy no harm. He would have to tell the truth, reveal the foolishness and shamefulness of his actions, and hope the ambassador would still consent to give him aid.

His counterpart stared at him probingly, concern coloring his features. When he spoke again, his tone was gentle. "Spock, are you familiar with the old terran saying, 'Confession is good for the soul'? Perhaps you should tell me what happened and we can assess the situation from there. I can assure you that my own experiences with Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy were full of bumps and divets and I apologize for casting premature judgment. Why did Leonard leave the Enterprise? You may tell me. I promise you will find no censure here."

Gripping his chair, Spock stared miserably at the floor. Try as he might, he could not meet the other man's eyes. "It is quite simple, sir. The doctor left the ship because I threatened to harm him if he did not."

The silence hung heavy between them as the older man absorbed his response. "I see. Spock, self-flagellation may be a satisfying act of contrition but it serves no practical purpose here. You say you threatened Leonard? Please elaborate."

Spock grimaced. "Very well, sir. Allow me to start where you and I last parted." Releasing his grip on the chair, Spock began pacing the cubicle again. "Jim Kirk and I had ample opportunity to discuss the implications of our conversations with you and the time we spent in each other's company led us to form a friendship. We found all that you had promised, a sense of completion and fulfillment and the relationship quickly deepened and became romantic and…….sexual in nature. However, as you have obviously realized, Jim was in a long term committed relationship with Dr. McCoy at the time.

I will not pretend that my actions towards the doctor are in any way excusable. The only explanation I can offer is that I viewed Jim as my mate and as a result I began challenging the doctor as a rival for his affections. I will not drag you through the details, sir….."

"Indeed, my friend, there is no need. I know enough of my own interactions with Leonard to fill in the blanks."

Spock nodded. "Very well. I take no pride in my behavior but it pales in comparison to my subsequent actions. Eventually, I melded with Jim and fully realized the depths of our compatibility. I became even more determined to secure our relationship and remove the doctor as a hindrance. Shortly thereafter, a crewmen's death left both the captain and the doctor in emotionally fragile states and Jim sought me out for comfort. The doctor chanced upon us in the middle of our first sexual encounter. Jim was distraught by the pain he had caused Dr. McCoy but I saw this as an opportunity for a clean break and approached the doctor in Sickbay.

My honest intentions were to rationalize with him, to present him with the reasons why the captain and I were a better match. I see now the foolishness of these actions but more than that, I recognize the danger of approaching a man I viewed as a rival while in a vulnerable mental state. The doctor seems to possess a unique ability to incite my basest emotions despite my best attempts at control and my own anger and propensity for cruel logic made for a combustible combination. Our confrontation turned physical and I threatened to hurt him if he did not leave the ship. During this encounter, my mental shields became severely compromised and I believe that I unknowingly initiated a meld."

Spock's explanation was broken by the sound of his counterpart drawing a sharp breath. "Sir, I realize the unforgivable nature of such an action. It is my sincere intention…."

"Spock, you misunderstand me. That information may provide you with your answers, though. Please continue."

Quirking his brown, Spock nodded slowly. "It was shortly thereafter, during our briefing on the illness on New Vulcan, that the change between the doctor and I first became apparent to me. I experienced true devastation at the news and took solace in the words and touch of Jim Kirk. However, when Dr. McCoy tried to leave the room, I physically restrained him and attempted to initiate another meld. It was an impulsive action and similar incidences followed. I found that I could not sleep or meditate affectively, could not initiate melds with Jim, if I did not spend time each day in the doctor's company. Finally, the night before his unplanned departure from the ship, I became overwhelmed by a sense of possessiveness at the sight of him talking to a member of the medical delegation and physically separated them."

Forcing himself to quell his nervous pacing and stand still, Spock stared at his counterpart, who was nodding absentmindedly with a thoughtful gleam in his eye. "Ambassador, your expression would suggest that you understand my actions. If that is the case, you are better informed than me. I would appreciate an explanation!"

The older man inclined his head. "My friend, I believe I can provide you with some answers but first, please tell me where your relationship stands with Jim Kirk."

Spock sighed. "Despite everything, Jim and I have still managed to form a rudimentary bond. Our minds are extremely compatible, as I suspect you already know. We could easily initiate a full mind link and become bondmates but we are unwilling to do so while the question of Dr. McCoy remains unanswered."

"And what question is that, friend?"

Spock glared. "Obviously, sir, the question of how to bring Dr. McCoy into our bond. Where we both unquestionably desire him to be."

The older Vulcan exhaled in an obvious sign of relief. "I see. My friend, I will not deny that you are in a rather messy situation but your words give me comfort and I believe I can give you hope. You asked me before about my relationship with Leonard McCoy."

"Was he your bondmate?"

"He was. Leonard, Jim and I were faithfully bonded until I lost them both to death."

"But you said nothing! You only spoke of Jim! Why?"

"Because I am a sentimental old fool who should have left well enough alone. Spock, much of the responsibility for your current predicament falls upon me. You see, when Jim allowed me to meld with him, I saw his relationship with our good doctor, saw their solidarity. I assumed that by nudging you in Jim's direction, you would inevitably connect with Leonard as well. I am sorry. But I believe I have some answers, which while hard to accept, will help you understand your emotional upheaval. But it will probably be easier if you allow me to tell my own story."

Spock sat down heavily and steepled his hands. "I am listening."

"During our first five-year mission aboard the Enterprise, Jim and Leonard were part of a landing party negotiating mining rights on the planet Halken. An ion storm led to a transporter malfunction and they were somehow displaced into an alternate universe, one of complete moral depravity by our standards. They were able to return rather quickly, but not before my counterpart in that universe forced a meld on Leonard." The older man's face darkened as he continued. "The attack left residue behind in Leonard's mind, causing him fear and pain and he allowed me to meld with him on several occasions to repair the damage. This was the first time I became aware of our unique mental continuity. Like yourself, I was in an emotional state when I melded with Leonard, though my anger was directed at my alter-ego. Nonetheless, my mental shields were weakened, which allowed a tenuous connection to form between our minds." Spock stared at his young counterpart, whose eyes widened with dawning realization. "It was miniscule, and had little effect on us at first, but for years afterward, Leonard or I would seek each other out after particularly difficult missions in order to sleep together.

Just sleeping," he continued as the young Vulcan's eyes widened, "nothing more. Sometimes for one day, sometimes for weeks. We never spoke of it. At the same time, we were both growing more attached to our captain. I do not know what may have happened had we stayed together but at the end of our mission, Starfleet promoted Jim and Leonard asked to be decommissioned. I decided to deal with the residuals of our bond in a rather extreme manner."

"How?"

"Kolinahr."

"Kolin…..Fascinating! But you obviously did not complete the training."

"Suffice to say, I was called back to duty and reunited with the captain and the doctor. We served together again, until my rather sudden death."

"Your death?"

"Oh, yes. I was, however, able to transfer my katra into Leonard first. I will spare you the whole story at this time except to say that Jim and Leonard returned my body and katra to Vulcan to undergo the Fal-tor-pan at great personal risk. After that, the mental bonds between the three of us were too strong to be broken, even if we had wanted too. So we formally completed the bonds and lived out the remainder of their lives as mates."

"And this was recognized on Vulcan?"

"By those Vulcans whose opinions mattered to me." The older man peered curiously at his young counterpart. "My friend, this story is simply an anecdote to your own situation. I know you understand me."

Spock nodded carefully, raw emotion written on across his face. "You believe that the doctor and I formed a bond during our confrontation in his sickbay."

"It would explain everything, would it not? Your sudden feelings of possessiveness, your need to seek him out for comfort, your desire to meld with him again."

Spock was up and pacing again. "Yes, sir, it explains everything except how I could allow myself to do such a thing! You instigated the lightest of bonds, easily controllable, even breakable, when you healed the doctor. The bond did not cement until he carried your katra. But the symptoms I am experiencing could only be explained by a deeply rooted bond, one that would be virtually unbreakable at this juncture! I have forced him into a bond that we will have no choice but to complete."

"I fear you are correct, my friend, and it will have to be done soon. Leonard does not possess your mental disciplines. A bond of this strength will cause him much pain if it is left unresolved."

"I will need to leave then, immediately, to go to Earth."

"And Jim?"

"Jim?" Spock's eyes looked pained, "I….our bond is not yet of sufficient depth…..it could be….broken……." his voice trailed off in desolation.

The venerable old Vulcan shook his head in mock frustration. "Spock, you asked for my advice. Now please listen to it. If you wish this situation to be resolved, then it must be about the three of you. That is what will define you, my friend. You are, of course, familiar with the Aristotelian triangle, the unique blend of logos, ethos, and pathos to form an affective argument. Think on it, friend. Logic, ethics and empathy; Spock, Kirk, and McCoy. Your defining characteristics were meant to complement each other. You are greater together than the sum of your parts.

You are young, Spock, much younger than I when I began my dealings with these two highly illogical, fascinating humans. And you have faced horrors I never even dreamed of. Do not castigate yourself for your mistakes. Learn from them, grow from them, confess them to Jim. And then go find Leonard McCoy!"

*************

Several hours later, a whiplashed Spock was seated on his bed watching an increasingly agitated Jim Kirk stalk mindlessly around his cabin. "You didn't tell me you _melded_ with him! Christ, Spock, what the hell were you thinking?"

Spock stared hard at the balled fists resting on his knees. "Jim, I was unaware. My ability to shield was substantially compromised and we were touching each other…."

"You mean _you_ were touching _him_, "Jim interjected sharply, "Did you hurt him?"

Images flashed through the Spock's mind, the doctor pressed against the bulkhead, clawing at the Vulcan's chest, his voice / _Spock! Stop! You're hurting me!_/ echoing in his head "It did cause the doctor some pain, as the connection flooded him with my emotions."

"_Some _pain! You went into _his _sickbay the day after he walked in on us fucking each other, shoved him into a wall, pushed yourself inside his head and caused him _some_ pain!" Jim stopped mid-stride, his expression murderous. "Did they take you aside on Vulcan and teach the subtle art of _understatement_? No wonder he ran away!"

A sudden surge of emotion propelled Spock off the bed and across the room, pushing Jim back and slamming his hands on either side of the human's head. Raw fury poured off of them, threatening to ignite before Spock caught site of the subtle glisten of tears in Jim's eyes. Awash in his own shame, Spock lowered his forehead to rest against the cooler human's and shut his eyes. "Jim, I deny none of this. I baited and belittled him, deliberately driving wedges in your relationship. I hurt and threatened him and finally, after violating his mind, I pursued him possessively, forcing him into my company despite his fears. What I have done is practically unforgivable and Dr. McCoy would be well within his rights to avoid me forever. Unfortunately, that is _not_ an option.

When I said I caused the doctor some pain, I did not mean to imply any triviality but it was temporary and incomparable to what he will soon be experiencing. The ambassador and I are both quite certain that the doctor and I formed a bond of sufficient depth to render it virtually unbreakable. We are, for all intents, bonded mates. However, for all its depth, the bond is incomplete and must be resolved. A link such as this is intended to draw spouses together and it will seek to do that with or without their consent. It will wreak havoc on the bondmates' mental faculties, eventually leading to debilitation, possibly even insanity. I possess the mental disciplines to stave off these ramifications. Dr. McCoy does not."

Jim dropped his hands heavily on Spock's shoulders and pressed their foreheads closer. "Spock, don't stand here and pretend you're handling this. You can hardly even sleep."

Drawing back, Spock stared hard at the floor. "You are correct. The bond is having a strong effect on me. I am certain it is doing far worse to the doctor."

Pulling away, Jim leaned against the edge of his desk and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Spock, I don't even know what to say to this. It's just…..How the _hell_ did this happen? And what is going to mean?"

"Jim, you agree that we have exceptionally cohesive minds?"

"Yeah, I think we do."

Spock nodded. "Indeed. But your description of your relationship with Dr. McCoy would lead me to believe that the two of you are also mentally compatible. In fact, you seem to share a deeply empathetic connection, wouldn't you agree?"

Jim grimaced, the knife in his heart giving a particularly vicious twist as he recalled their instant accord , two worldly misfits adrift together in a sea of bright-eyed youth. "Yeah….yeah, we have that. Or at least we did until I completely destroyed it. So what are you telling me? That you guys have that, too. Like a whole bunch of criss-crossing connections or something?"

"Something of the sort, at least as it stands now."

"Alright. So….we'd have our bond, and you'd have yours and Bones and I would have…what…this empathic thing we have." Jim fought to keep the frustration out of his voice but it poured through their tenuous link, "No offense but that sounds like a huge fucking disaster! Is that really the best we can do?"

Spock shook his head. "That would be acceptable as a second option," he replied, "but I plan to attempt something more ambitious."

"Explain," the human ordered tersely.

"I want to invoke a three-way bond. It was rather common in Vulcan's past, when a male might have two mates, for all three to form a triad. This would eliminate the criss-crossing connections you describe, creating instead a singular link connecting all three minds to each other."

Jim's head shot up, his face alight with possibility, "You could do that? Is it hard?"

"It is usually no more difficult than a two party bond, but in such circumstances the potential bondmates were all Vulcan. That is not the case here."

The unabashed hope in Jim's eyes flickered and began to die. Spock considered his lover, forcefully reminded once again of how badly Jim wanted his Bones back. He needed this, _they _needed this because their reunion with the doctor was going to be explosive. A three-way bond would be open and even-footed, allowing McCoy to feel the depths of their love and remorse, channels they would need if they were to build trust and a life together. And it _was_ going to work, this bond, and if any forces interfered they would quickly discover the depths of his will. Taking Jim by the shoulders and fixing him with a resolute stare, he said, "Do_ not_ feel despair. We _will _be successful because we are sufficiently determined. We will do everything in our power to create a scenario with variables advantageous to our purpose. Agreed?"

A heady emotional composite of fear, hope, and guilt rippled off of Jim's shoulders and Spock pulled him tightly against his chest as the contents of his battered psyche finally erupted all over them. Clinging to the Vulcan, he babbled incoherently. "Don't…..how can you tell me not to fucking despair…..You might have hurt him but then you never promised to love him……I did!"

Leaning, his head back against the wall, Jim stared up at the ceiling as his chest hitched. Spock slid his hands gently up and down his arms as the human fought for his composure. "Spock, I need him back. He's so far away and when all this shit happened, I never even got to tell him how fucking _sorry _I am…….and it's killing me." Looking down, he pinned the Vulcan with a meaningful stare. "I love you, okay. I really do. But the old guy is right. It's got to be the three of us. I see that now. I think I always did. So please, Spock, please, just tell me what to do but we've got to make this work. I…."

He stilled as Spock spoke gently into his ear, "It will work. We will make it work. Jim, I am not so proud as to deny my own needs, especially in front of you. I _need_ you, both of you. I have already lost far too much and I will fight to keep you both. We will go to Earth, we will find Leonard and we will beg forgiveness. And then you will learn to forgive yourself."

Jim snorted. "Yeah? What about you?"

"I shall aspire to do the same."

Jim offered a weak smile wiped his eyes, his voice still thick with tears . "Okay……. Alright…. let's hear the trade secrets then. How do we create this scenario?"

Spock picked up his PADD and keyed it up. Jim shook his head, a thin veil of amusement piercing his dejection. "Tell me you didn't create a sim to test this."

"Of course I did. I desire a positive outcome and do not see how flying by the seat of my pants, as you are so fond of saying, would help achieve the preferred results. A simulation is quite logical."

"Of course. Okay, tell me what you learned."

"There are mental and physical variables to be manipulated. According to my research, this could best be accomplished by achieving simultaneous sexual gratification."

"Woahh….wait……are you saying we all have to…..come……at the same time?"

"Precisely."

"_Spock_! Are you kidding me? That's practically impossible, even with two people. Trust me, I speak from experience!"

"I have considered this. If I instigate a meld between the three of us, I should be able to use the pre-existing bonds to align our responses. At that moment, mental and physical boundaries are supplanted by a sense of euphoria, which will allow me to complete the bonds unresisted. I assure you, if we approach this with proper motivation, our chances of success are quite high."

"How high?"

"It is impossible to give you exact figures, Jim."

"Yeah, right, that's because we both know that Bones is a wild card. You know, on second thought, a three-way orgasm is gonna be the easy part. How the hell are we ever going to convince him to do this?"

Spock fixed him with a determined stare. "We will, as you say, pull no punches. Dr. McCoy is isolated and in pain from the unresolved nature of our bond. This will leave him in a vulnerable position. My touch will provide some relief of the physical manifestations but it will only be temporary. The only permanent solution is to complete the bond."

"And that has to involve sex? There isn't another way?"

Spock sighed. "It is a mating bond, Jim. It does require mating."

Jim shot him a withering look. "Yeah, well, Bones isn't just going to fall in and cooperate. He _hates_ me. And he's absolutely terrified of you. He's going to fight us, Spock, with everything he's got because he's stubborn and proud. So just how far are you willing to take this?"

The guilt and desolation was creeping back into Jim's voice and it made Spock's protective heckles stir. Reaching out, he gently rubbed the back of Jim's neck. "Leonard does not hate you." Stilling Jim's protest with a finger to his lips, he continued, "Listen to me. I can offer you no proof of this but I believe it with the deepest of convictions. I have been inside his head and the residuals of his feelings are clear to me, now that I know to look for them. There is anger and pain and a deep sense of betrayal but there is no hatred.

As for myself, you are correct. The doctor still fears me, a condition for which I intend to make innumerable amends. I am, however, willing to use it to my advantage here first. In fact, I will take his fear, surliness, compassion and anything else at my disposal and mold it to my purposes if necessary and I need you to be willing to do the same."

Jim's eyes widened but Spock pressed on, "I realize that I sound quite merciless but it is in my nature to protect my mate, even from himself if necessary. If it was within my power, I would put the choice entirely in the doctor's hands and submit myself to his decision but that that is not an option. The bond exists and it will destroy Leonard if it left unresolved. I will _not_ allow this to happen. Jim, I need you to recognize the severity of the stakes here. Will you help me?"

Jim closed his eyes but slowly nodded his head. "Dammit, Spock, I get it. I'll do it, whatever it takes. I can't lose him again." With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed Spock's hand and met his eyes, "but first there are two things. We can guilt and coerce if we have to but that is where I draw the line. His whole life his family has been trying to force their will down his throat. We have to find a way to make him actually agree."

Spock reached out and cupped his chin. "Jim, you need not fear. The precise nature of a mating bond means it must be entered into willingly. Which is why we must secure the doctor's cooperation."

Jim nodded, relief flitting across his face. "Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to imply…..Okay, whatever it takes then. But there's still my second condition. When this is over, when we've completed this bond, because it _is_ going to work, dammit, then you and I are going to make this right again. And I don't care what it takes. I stomped all over his heart and his pride and I will do whatever the hell I have to do to make it okay. If he wants me to beg, I'll do it. Crawl through glass, I'll do it. If he wants me to give up this damn ship, take a quiet teaching position and support him in his research, I will fucking do it. I need to know if you're willing to do the same."

Spock inclined his head. "Jim, I assure you I will be willing to do anything necessary to mend the breach I have created. However, I do not believe the doctor will require your prostrate humiliation. I have seen inside his mind and I can assure you, his love for you runs quite deep and it is not in his disposition to exact pounds of flesh."

"Yeah, I know. He's a better man than most. Definitely than me."

Stepping back, Spock averted his eyes. "Jim, you are a good man. You are governed by exceptional instincts, instincts that guide you in the correct direction. In this instance, your instincts were sound. It was you who recognized the possibility of a relationship involving all three of us. It was I who refused to see, who insisted that a choice had to be made. I was shortsighted and cruel and I ask your forgiveness."

Jim exhaled slowly, a tight grimace on his face. "Spock…..hell, Spock, it isn't your fault. Well, it's both our faults but it's just too complicated for that. Look, whatever absolution you need from me, you have it, okay. It's Bones we need to do right by."

"Indeed. The doctor is a passionate man. He will no doubt offer up a strong resistance, as is his nature, but he will not be moved by groveling or contrite gestures. It is also in his nature to forgive. That is what will heal him."

"So we just love him? That's it?"

"I believe so."

"Bullshit, Spock. There's something you aren't telling me."

Spock's head shot up and he stared assessingly at the human. "Jim?"

"Don't 'Jim' me. I know how this link works, too. You're holding something back, I can feel it." Spock said nothing but his eyes darted surreptitiously towards his PADD. "See, I knew it. What did your sim tell you?"

The Vulcan sighed, "Jim, I have not yet decided if the benefits outweigh the drawbacks."

"Doesn't work that way, Spock. No secrets. You can't really keep them from me anyway. Drawbacks of what?"

Spock drew a deep breath, but nodded his acquiescence. "Very well. You and I have laid the groundwork of a bond, but it is quite shallow in comparison to the one I share with Leonard. It would be easier to resolve the bond if our pre-existing ties were of equal depth." Jim began nodding enthusiastically but Spock shook his head slightly before continuing, "This is not to be taken lightly, Jim. Our bond would be as permanent as the one between myself and the doctor. There would be no going back."

Pushing off his desk, Jim pinned Spock with a furious glare. "This is what you're worrying about? Do you really think I'm going to want out of this? Christ, would you grow up. I am in this with you, forever, and you damn well know it. Besides, that isn't really what's bothering you."

Spock sighed. "You are correct. Jim, please understand that I am going about this with no precedence. You and Leonard are both human and despite our affinity, the two of you possess none of the mental disciplines that Vulcans are taught from birth. Leonard is suffering because he has no way to shield his mind. If I deepen our bond, there is a strong possibility that you will experience the same pain."

Sinking down on the bed, Jim rested his hand on Spock's knee. "Okay, I get why you're concerned. But Bones is on Earth where you can't reach him. I'm here with you. You'll be able to help me handle it until we get it completely resolved, right?"

Spock nodded. "This is true."

Jim jumped up. "Okay, fine. You can help me to control it, it'll make the bond with Bones easier, and it'll mean you and I are in this for good. Let's do this." Pausing, he glanced down at Spock, "Uh, what do we have to do?"

The Vulcan's brow quirked. "It is a mating bond, Jim. It requires mating."

****************

The CMO's cabin was dark, broken only by the flame of the tiny candle that sat on the floor. The flickering light was quickly swallowed by the surrounding blackness but not before it danced off the blue eyes of James Kirk, seated quietly on the floor. He stared into the flame, his eyes focused, divulging, pulling apart the subtle color differentials in the fire even as he pulled apart and examined his own chaotic thoughts.

He and Spock had experimented with several meditation techniques, some more elaborate than others, but in the end all Jim really needed was a scented candle. And Bones' old cabin, of course. That was imperative. He had packed up the doctor's belongings and shipped them to Earth but the lingering smell, the _sense_ of Bones was still a comfort. And he had needed whatever serenity he could find in the past month.

Spock hadn't been wrong. While their initial bond had been light and unrestricting, similar to the ones Vulcans used to bond their children, this one was deep and consuming. It was a force unto itself, exposing them to each other, making them desire, making them crave. And it wasn't just Spock slipping into his thoughts and dreams, whispering across the bond; Jim could feel Bones everywhere.

Exhaling slowly, Jim let the breath slip out between his lips in an even line. This should have been over by now. They should be safely on Earth with Bones. Instead, they were inching back to the dry dock above San Francisco on damaged warp cores and a depleted oxygen supply. Well, several months on Earth while the Enterprise underwent repairs was definitely a boon he hadn't seen coming. And he supposed there was some commendation in this somewhere for him, but at this particular moment he really couldn't even force himself to care. All he knew was that he was still in space and Bones was still on Earth suffering the effects of the bond and they hadn't been able to get to him. God, he hated Klingons! Bunch of fucking cowboys!

For Jim, the worst part was the worrying, the fear, because Bones was hurting and still didn't know why. He had wanted to tell him immediately but Spock had insisted they wait and Jim had to concede his point. When Bones got emotional he got impulsive, his enlistment in Starfleet being one such example and if he knew then he might do something rash. Jim's suggestion of a Vulcan intermediary form the embassy had been met with a harsh glance from his first officer and it had taken him less than a minute to realize the thoughtlessness of his words. There were no more Vulcans at the embassy. They were all on their new home planet. Dying.

Which only made it more imperative for them to get to Earth. They had to heal Bones so he could heal New Vulcan. It was of profoundest necessity to both the men he loved and Jim was more determined than ever to fulfill the bond. No matter what it took. And he would soon get the chance to test his resolve. They were due to arrive at dry dock in less than two days.

Staring hard at the dancing flame before him, Jim's lips set in a thin, determined line.

_Hang on, Bones. We're almost there._


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Author wishes to apologize for the delay and promsises to try to be more consistent with her updates!!!!**

**Author still doesn't own Star Trek, ever growing collection of Star Trek action figures not withstanding.**

**Chapter Four:**

The ballroom was unbearably stuffy, the air superheated and moist. Too many bodies and overblown egos in too small a place. Jim hated these formal Starfleet events, hated the uniform, the painfully dainty little finger food, and the painfully false grin he kept plastered across his face. But most of all he hated the bullshit; the stench of politicking and ass kissing was pungent in the air and he had no choice but to breathe it. He had to charm and make small talk with the same back-stabbing admirals who wheeled and dealed with the lives of their underlings from the safe confines of their posh offices. Pike detested these guys, despised them for the damage they had inflicted on an organization he believed in and Jim had inherited that disdain. But no matter how much he loathed this scene, he would have born it one hundred times over because tonight was not about resentment or glad-handing. Tonight was all about Bones.

They had docked for repairs and arrived on Earth nearly a week ago but had yet to find the doctor. It hadn't been for lack of trying. In trademark look-before-you-leap fashion, Jim had wanted to simply show up on Bones' front step with their hearts in their hands but Spock had finally managed to dissuade him. First, he reasoned, it would be fairer and better in the long term if they tried to introduce Bones to the idea of bonding gradually and give him some time to adjust. Also, they had no idea where he was living. Their best attempts to hack the Starfleet database had been met with impenetrable firewalls. Jim knew he should feel grateful that Starfleet protected their personnel so well but right now it was just another pain in his ass.

Starfleet Medical was no help either. They might be decorated officers but that didn't afford them any privileges in that carefully insulated world. The only way to gain access would be to alert Bones to their presence and Jim knew that too much advanced notice would only allow him to shore up his walls of resistance or do something crazy. No, they had to find a way to get to him face to face without any forewarning; it was a shitty but necessary evil.

And so they found themselves suffering through the Surgeon General's Annual Summer Gala. Their attendance was expected, as the Captain and First Officer of the currently dry docked flagship, but the real motivation was the presence of the entire New Vulcan medical contingent as guests of honor. At least they were supposed to be. As far as Jim could tell, Bones had yet to make an appearance and as he scanned the room, he almost smiled in spite of himself. It was such vintage Leonard McCoy. There was no way Bones could blow off the event completely, not with the juggernaut that was Starfleet Public Relations breathing all over him. But he would do his best to be a cantankerous bastard about it, which meant showing up as late as possible. In mismatched socks, if he could manage it. So Jim and Spock kept their eyes peeled as they struck up a conversation with Admiral Thomas Cody.

A part of Jim, the selfish part he hated to acknowledge, really wanted to dislike the man responsible for pushing through Bones' transfer but he just couldn't seem to hold on to his anger. Cody possessed an honesty and forthrightness that reminded Jim of Pike, a breath of fresh air in the bureaucratic stink. He spoke openly with them about the New Vulcan cure, his tone sympathetic without morphing into condescension and Jim could tell that Spock appreciated the candor. It was a tremendous relief to know that the fate of his mate's people was in this man's hands.

They were deeply engaged in discussion when he first felt the tug, a vague, clenching pull at the back of his mind. Glancing sideways, his eyes met Spock's, understanding flickering across the bond. Mental suggestion became physical compulsion and he was already turning towards the door when Cody looked up and announced, "Ah, here comes our boy now."

Jim had been adequately warned and was fully expecting evidence of the bond's physical toll on his doctor but he still wasn't prepared for what met his eyes. A sharp breath caught in his throat and he swallowed his shame painfully as he caught sight of the fragile shell skulking down the massive grand staircase.

_Fuck._

He was thin, so damn thin, his face ashy and unshaven, his eyes empty and red. He slouched through the crowd mirthlessly, sick, weak and weary but he was also warm, tangible, and _there_.

_Bones_.

So close Jim could almost touch him.

The need to do so was powerful, visceral and his hand was reaching out automatically to satisfy his instinctual compulsion for contact when his own guilty conscience suddenly shouted "No!" The bond howled in denial but Jim bowed to the wisdom of the inner voice that was demanding care, contrition, and restraint. Beside him, Spock was leaking waves of intense protectiveness and Jim gently grasped his wrist.

"_Don't do anything. It'll only be counterproductive. You said so yourself."_

Spock openly grimaced but nodded his head as they watched Bones carefully maneuver his way through the crush of officers, obviously intent on a straight bourbon and a nice, quiet wall to hold up for the evening.

Jim knew it the very second he spotted them, saw the sudden, infusive jolt that ran through the haggard body, though the flinch was miniscule, an impressive feat for a man so used to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. There was, however, no denying the panic and dismay that rippled across the bond and Jim gripped Spock's arm even tighter, feeling his mate's inherent need to seize, to meld, to soothe away.

"_Later", _he thought fiercely, _"Soon!"_

Bones had controlled his expression but his body language was that of perceptive prey and he might've managed to veer off to the left and flee had Cody not hailed him over with the jovial intentions of reuniting shipmates. Trapped by deeply ingrained southern good breeding, Bones had no choice but to answer the good natured summons.

"Ah, there you are, McCoy." The admiral intoned in good cheer, "I was beginning to think you were going to lock yourself up in the lab again all night. Captain Kirk, your friend here has been an invaluable resource to us these past months, though I dare say you must miss him."

Jim wanted to let his eyes wander, to drink in the sight of Bones so close, but he schooled his expression into mellow sincerity. "I do, Admiral, we all do. More than we can say." Bones' raised eyes reflected back equal parts disbelief and accusation but Jim held his gaze, his expression even and beseeching. Hell, it was almost too much to take. The emotional energy between them was volatile, even hostile and the booming magnetism of it, aided by the bond, was nearly impossible for Jim to resist. His hands literally clenched against the driving need to pull his hurting doctor into his arms, to press his lips to an ear and plead for forgiveness. He had no idea how long their high-tension impasse actually lasted but his scattered thoughts were suddenly interrupted by his own voice asking, "Can I get you a drink, Bones? You look tired."

At Jim's offer, the doctor's expression morphed, the veneer of annoyance giving way to reveal the betrayal and desperation beneath. Jim felt it everywhere, the pleading mantra of _/Please, Jim, please just leave me ALONE/ _that rippled across the bond and stabbed at his conscience but Cody was already asking for a refill and pulling a subtly reluctant Spock back into conversation. With no choice but to comply or make a scene, Bones shot Jim a scathing look and stalked off towards the buffet line, leaving the captain to trail behind in his wake.

The line at the bar was enormous and they found themselves compressed by a horde of leering, semi-sober officer's wives. Jim's hands were sweating, his heart thudding heavily and he hated the vulnerable uncertainty that dogged his every thought but in the face of the perfect opportunity, he suddenly couldn't decide what to say. Apologies were insignificant and empty without actions to back them up and it would only take one wrong word to make the incendiary tension between them explode. Closing his eyes, Jim took a chance on levity.

"You know, we'll be waiting here for twenty minutes and the quality of the bourbon will probably just offend you." He said lightly.

He felt the torrent of conflicting emotions even as he watched them play across Bones' face; the desire to laugh his agreement, to give a biting retort, all immediately smothered by dejection. Shooting Jim a scathing glare, Bones pushed his way through the jostling crowd and came to rest his forehead against a far wall, largely obscured by elaborate silk screens. Mentally kicking himself, Jim followed, approaching the slumped form and gingerly laying a hand on his shoulder. "Bones? Bones, I'm sorry…I didn't mean…._shit!_" Dropping both hands to Bones' arms, he carefully assessed with gently probing fingers, a frustrated growl catching in his throat. He knew this man's body, knew every inch of it as intimately as his own and it was meant to be smooth, all soft planes and rounded angles. The jutting edges of Bones shoulder blades felt wrong under his hands and for a brief moment, Jim actually hated their bond. The damn thing wasn't just hurting Bones, it was practically killing him!

Spinning the doctor gently around to face him, Jim took a tentative step back and met Bones' eyes. "Listen," he implored, sensing Bones' distress, "Bones, I know…."

"Dammit, Jim," the man bit out, shrugging Jim off as he pushed away from the wall, "Can't you just leave me the hell alone? I'm not your business anymore."

Jim swallowed that hard truth but kept his voice calm, soothing, "Yeah, you're right. I know I have no right to bother you and you have every reason to tell me to fuck off, but Bones, please, I need you to listen….."

"Captain James Kirk," a loud, slippery voice intoned behind him, "Isn't this an interesting surprise!"

Jim took a deep breath and turned reluctantly to greet the simpering band of Starfleet up and ups dying to chat up "Pike's Golden Boy". He amped up the charm as he made quick excuses but it was no use. By the time he finally managed to extricate himself, Bones had slipped away into the crowd.

Cursing under his breath, Jim threaded his way back to Cody and politely made excuses to the admiral as he gestured Spock away. Scanning the room for any sign of the doctor, he frowned. "_What are you thinking?"_

A heavy air of culpability was clinging to the Vulcan as he admitted, _"His physical appearance is considerably worse than I anticipated."_

Jim shot him a scathing look. _"Spock, he looks like hell. How did this happen so fast? It's been less than three months."_

"_You heard the admiral. Their research has experienced some setbacks. You know far better than I the doctor's propensity to put the good of others before his own health. He is most likely expending all his energy on the project, allowing the bond to take a more rapid effect. _Turning in a circle, Spock scanned the panoramic of the room. _"Jim, in light of Leonard's condition we need to proceed quickly."_

"_Meaning what?"_

Spock exhaled slowly, tension lacing his shoulders, _"I need to touch him, Jim. I need to initiate a light meld and sooth his mind. He will recognize and respond to his mate subconsciously which should relieve a great deal of his pain. It will protect him and lay a strong foundation for our next encounter_", Glancing around the room again, Spock allowed his heated gaze to rest on Jim, "_I need to do this tonight."_

Pressing a finger between his eyes, Jim nodded but grimaced miserably. _"Shit."_

"_What is it?"_

"_It's just…dammit, Spock, this is wrong. You should've heard him practically begging me to leave him alone. He doesn't want us anywhere near him."_

The Vulcan nodded slowly but his expression remained resolute. _"I appreciate that but I am hoping that the relief of pain will counter some of his emotional distress." _Meeting Jim's eyes, he pressed his point. "_Jim, he is my mate. I cannot leave here tonight without attempting to alleviate some of the pain I have caused. It is simply beyond me to walk away from him without giving some aid. So, I ask you, please help me?"_

They circulated carefully for an hour, seeking out their wayward mate, but it seemed Bones had lost none of his stealth tactical aplomb and he managed to avoid them completely. Weary and disheartened, Jim was just about to tell Spock that they should fall back and regroup when the low thrum of the bond suddenly leaped furiously to life, emitting probing blasts of panic and pain.

An unrelenting, niggling fear deep in his gut made Jim scour the ballroom again, searching not for science blues but the formal regalia of the planet Betazid. Just as he suspected, his quick scan revealed the notable absence of one Dr. Jovanni Tor. Surveying the periphery, Jim quickly locked on Spock who was staring at the floor in intense concentration, his pupil's blown and his eyes murderous. As Jim hurried towards him, the Vulcan's head suddenly jerked up and he broke to the left, stalking furiously towards the balcony doors.

The outside air was refreshingly cool but Jim barely noticed it as he scanned the darkened, empty expanse for their quarry. The wide marble veranda appeared deserted but Jim's well honed senses were screaming that they were in the right place. Shutting his eyes in concentration, Spock's ears suddenly pricked and they were running, racing towards the distant, familiar voice keening in distress somewhere around a far corner. Adrenaline surging from the rise of protective heckles, they rounded the wall and came to a screeching standstill before an unbalancing enactment of déjà vu.

For a moment, Jim was rendered immobile as he took in the sight. Bones was pinned loosely against the rough brick wall, his expression pained and his eyes desperate as he tried vainly to extract his hand from the vice-like grip of the Betazoid doctor. Tor was leaning in close, his tall, ample frame caging Bones' weakened form with ease. He appeared to be speaking softly to the human, his expression soothing and reserved but his hold on Bones' arm was bruising and he appeared to be in no rush to let go.

_Shit!_

Beside him, Jim could feel the primal fire of Vulcan protective instinct flaring to life at the sight of Bones' distress. Sensing he had about five seconds to defuse the building explosion before Spock leaped the thirty-feet separating them from Bones and killed Tor where he stood, Jim stepped in front of his enraged mate, calling out in a voice dripping with ice, "Good evening, Dr. Tor. Lovely night for a walk."

At the sound of Jim's voice, Tor's lips curled up into a sickeningly serene smile, his teeth bared mere inches from Bones' slack face. Turning his head towards the approaching captain, he released Bones' hand with an exaggerated flourish and bowed in mock deprecation as the doctor stumbled away and slid down the wall to the ground. "Ah, Captain Kirk," he said smoothly, "What a pleasure to see you again." His expression appeared genuine and guileless but there was a blatant, aggressive tinge to it that boiled Jim's blood. To his left, Jim could feel Spock's simmering rage bubbling precariously to the surface and he reached out quickly to shackle the Vulcan's wrist.

"_Stop! Let me deal with him. You help Bones."_ Continuing to clutch Spock's arm, Jim almost buckled under the onslaught of warring emotions siphoning through his mate. _"Hey! Don't do anything stupid. He's hurt, Spock. Fix it!" _

For a tense moment, Jim thought Spock was going to ignore him, was going to demolish the fool who'd dared to cause their doctor additional pain. But the coursing emotional upheaval under Jim's fingertips suddenly shifted from untempered rage to rational control and he nodded carefully before striding away to drop into a crouch before Bones' slumped form. With a snort of relief, Jim turned on the transgressing Betazoid with a feral glint in his eye.

Tor was standing several feet away, lounging casually against the building with a look of pernicious amusement as he took in the exchange between the three officers. As Jim stalked towards the man, he also became aware of a strange, aura that emanated from the doctor. It was slimy, viscous and oddly familiar and Jim nearly came to an inelegant halt as the reality of what he was sensing fractured; lust, possessiveness, claim.

_Challenge._

Yes, that was it. Tor was a damn Betazoid, for Christ's sake, a race whose telepathic abilities rivaled and even surpassed the Vulcans. Hell, no wonder he was looking smug. The arrogant prick probably knew every facet of their dilemma, every nuance of his horrible betrayal and Bones' resultant pain. And Jim had a terrible feeling that Tor intended to use this illicitly obtained information for his own purposes, as an opening gambit to make a play for Bones.

Oh, _hell_ no. He would not let this happen. He wasn't sure exactly what the bastard's game was but he knew one thing for certain; Bones didn't like the man, didn't want him anywhere near him, and that was proof enough for Jim. And then there was Spock, who had briefly explained to Jim the process and consequences of a challenge to a Vulcan mating bond. If the damn Betazoid tried anything, Spock would be within his rights, protected under established Vulcan legal tenet, to fight him. To the death. And if he was reading his Vulcan correctly, Jim was pretty sure that Spock would leap at the opportunity.

Well, screw that. This entire situation was already perched precariously on the razor's edge and Jim would be damned if Dr. Jovanni Tor was going to make a desperate situation even worse. Meeting the man's eyes, he stalked purposefully across the veranda.

Tor's voice was deceptively subordinate as he chimed, "My dear Captain Kirk, my apologies. I don't wish to intrude on your little reunion with your, erm, _friend_ Dr. McCoy. Please excuse my presumption." Pushing away from the wall, he took several steps until he was standing nose to nose with Jim in the center of the balcony as he continued, "Except from what I can tell, Captain, our Dr. McCoy isn't really your friend anymore, now is he?" Tor held up his hands, wiggling his fingers in front of Jim's face with a mocking glint in his eyes, "Telepathy can lead to such interesting discoveries. Ah, Mr. Kirk, what a tangled web you've woven for yourself."

"You can read our minds?" Jim retorted glacially, "Then read mine now. But I'm going to say it out loud anyway, just so you and I are perfectly clear. Dr. McCoy doesn't seem to want you anywhere near him. I'm gonna strongly suggest you respect the man's wishes."

Tor threw back his head in a malicious chuckle. "Captain, let's be honest here. The doctor doesn't want your touch, either. But I don't see that stopping you."

Jim's stomach clenched at the brutal honesty in those words but he schooled his features to hide his dismay. It was true, he knew that, but that die had already been cast. Keeping an even, easy smile under the deadly glint in his eyes, Jim said, "Fair enough. But since you know so damn much, you also know the whole history that the doctor and I have to fall back on. How much we've seen and done together, how much we've been through together. And you also know exactly what had to happen in order to pull us apart. I bet you can just taste it, can't you; all that passion and rage just swirling around." With a careful box step, Jim forced Tor into a backward cant, much to the doctor's obvious annoyance, as he loaded his tone with disdain.

Now, I'm generally no mind reader but I'm pretty good at picking up on what the good doctor is laying down. Towards you, I read disgust and a burning need to run in the other direction. And he barely even _knows_ you. Now, I broke his heart so he has a pretty damn good reason to turn tail but you, well, you he just doesn't like."

They stood eye to eye, the Betazoid still managing to look smug and untouchable. "Captain, I'm not your Vulcan. You won't bait _me_ into some overwrought emotional display."

At the sound of his imperious tone, the Iowa farm boy in Jim clenched his fists but the part of his brain that thought like a starship captain had assessed this man's weaknesses weeks ago and knew just where to strike. "Tor, are you familiar with the human concept known as clout." The doctor smiled coldly but the smallest hint of uncertainty danced across his face. "It has to do, _Sir_, with the amount of respect and influence any one person can bring to bear when and if they need it. To make sure something happens, you understand." Taking a step forward, Jim navigated the Betazoid into another step of retreat. "I imagine, _Sir_, that you currently have a fair amount of clout, being a member of such a high ranking research team. So, it really comes down to what you're willing to use that clout for."

Reaching the edge of the building, Jim deftly sidestepped and began backing Tor towards the ballroom doors. "Then there's me, _Sir_, and I'm sure you realize that I also have a lot of clout. And I know where I'd be willing to use it. I'm pretty sure you see where I'm going with this but just in case, let me be perfectly clear. If you ever put your hands on Dr. Leonard McCoy again without his express permission, I'll do everything in my power to ruin you."

Standing in the ballroom door, Tor assessed him snidely. "Your arrogance is your weakness, Kirk."

"It's yours, too. Wanna see whose is weaker?" Throwing up every mental shield Spock had ever taught him, Jim prayed he'd managed to foist the Betazoid out of his head. The man showed no obvious sign but the deep black of his irises contracted slightly in annoyance. Lifting his chin, he considered the human before him.

"Captain, I'm not what you'd call the impetuous type. I'll have plenty of opportunities at my disposal to use my clout, as you call it, and considerable influence to further my goals without any interruptions from the likes of you."

Jim grimaced. "Your _goals_, Doctor?"

Tor shot him a derisive smirk before slipping through the door. "Goodnight, _Captain"_ he tossed over his shoulder with contempt as he melted back into the crowd.

Damn, he was through with doubting his instincts. He had known that scumbag was no good, had sensed it on the Enterprise. There was something going on there, something that was hurting Bones and it made him want to hurt in return. It would have to be dealt with but he couldn't worry about it now. He had more pressing concerns. Turning on his heel, he raced back around the corner.

It was immediately obvious that his volatile bondmate had expended his quota of restraint as it pertained to Leonard McCoy. Spock had maneuvered him onto his feet and into a protective embrace. One arm was wrapped securely around Bones' waist, taking the majority of his weight as he pressed the doctor's back against his chest. His other hand was lightly stroking Bones' cheek as he whispered gently into his ear. The words were Vulcan but Jim could pick up the sense of safety and comfort running along the bond. Bones seemed incoherent as he rested his hands on the arm at his waist and burrowed his head into Spock's shoulder, unwittingly seeking comfort from his clandestine bondmate. The effect was immediately apparent; even in the poor light, Jim could make out the lines of tension receding from Bones' face and shoulders as Spock soothed his distressed mind.

He could have drunk in the image forever but Spock caught his eyes and gestured him closer with a minute quirk of his chin. Taking two steps forward, Jim took one of Bones hands and threaded their fingers before bringing it to his lips. Bones exhaled and clasped his fingers instinctively as Jim pressed their foreheads together and asked, "Are you alright?"

Shaking his head slightly, Bones slowly opened his eyes. "It hurts," he answered simply as his glazed eyes met Jim's. Glancing around disjointedly, he asked, "Is he gone?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, he went back in. Did _he_ hurt you?"

Bones shut his eyes and leaned unconsciously into Spock. Jim's noted the easy contact but kept his mouth shut as Bones slowly lolled his head back and forth. "I don't know. I don't think…I don't know. He just wanted to talk but…dammit, everything is fuzzy."

Jim nodded and gently stroked Bones' fingers as the other man instinctively pressed against the steady comfort of Spock's chest and shoulder. Across the bond, he could feel the unmistakable sense of relief issuing from both of them and he leaned into it easily. God, _this_ was what it was supposed to feel like, the connect, the sense of fulfillment. And the bond wasn't even complete yet. How much stronger could this grow?

He was flung from his reflection as Bones suddenly gave a jolt, taking in his surroundings, and stiffening. An undercurrent of panic hit Jim and he immediately recognized the cause. Spock. Shit, Bones was still afraid of Spock! It didn't matter that the Vulcan in question was currently cradling him like a baby, deep running sensations of need and remorse pouring though him like a sieve. Their past encounters had left too many scars on the doctor's long-damaged psyche for him to handle this situation well. Holding Bones' eyes, he rushed out, "You're okay, Bones. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you," but his words did nothing to reduce the mounting tension in the doctor's frame. "Listen, we just need to talk to you, okay? That's it. I know you've been feeling sick and I think we can help."

Bones' eyes focused and narrowed. "I'm fine," he answered tersely before pulling his hand free and wrenching himself loose. Wheeling towards the door, he managed three steps before his whole body contracted and he doubled over, clutching his head with the palms of his hand as an agonized moan slipped from his lips.

Leaping forward, Jim dropped in a crouch, holding Bones carefully by the shoulders. "Easy, Bones, easy. Try not to move too fast." The doctor glared at him through bloodshot eyes but Jim kept babbling nervously, "I know you feel like shit but we can fix that, okay. We can explain everything to you. You're going to be alright." but Bones was already shoving him away and surging to his feet. He took several steps before turning sharply.

"Dammit, I have already told you, I don't need your help. What I need is for you to leave me alone! Whatever it is you two think you're doing, I don't want any part in it. You've done plenty already. Now, I told you once and I'm telling you again. Stay the hell away from me!" His voice hitched on the last word and he fled back towards the doors. Jumping to his feet, Jim made to pursue him but a hand on his arm drew him up short. He whirled on Spock only to find the Vulcan shaking his head slowly. "I think it is best to let him retreat for now, Jim. We have given him much to think about tonight."

Shooting Spock a furious look, Jim stalked to the balcony ledge and gripped the wall hard as he stared out over the starlit San Francisco Bay. "Yeah? Like how much he still can't stand us? Hell, Spock, you saw him. We can't just sit here and wait. This is killing him!"

"Your concerns are valid. Consider, though, that Leonard now realizes that our touch relieves his pain. His physical appearance allows us to determine that the pain is in fact quite severe. This information will be helpful but we do need to determine how best to use it."

Turning sharply, Jim eyed his mate in frustration. "Fine," he muttered, "But we've got some other complications. Tor knows everything. He read it off of us." Walking away from the wall, he laid a firm hand on Spock's shoulder. "Look, I need to tell you something and I also need you to promise to handle it well. You can't try to do anything about it right now and you can consider that an order." Gripping the Vulcan tighter, he continued, "This Tor guy is up to something. Or a lot of things, I imagine, but we're gonna have to worry about that some other day. Right now, though, the biggest problem we have is…"

"His unwanted interest in Leonard?" The Vulcan's eyes were cold.

Jim raised his brows. "You know?" he asked incredulously.

Spock's expression remained unreadable. "I could sense his intentions as soon as we found them. And I am in complete agreement with you. It does add a dangerous complication and must be handled immediately. I do not trust this man and I do not believe his intentions toward Leonard are good. What more, in light of our encounter here tonight, I feel that he will press his advantage sooner rather than later."

Linking his arms carefully behind his back, Spock fell into a pensive daze and Jim waited patiently as Spock ran through the possible strategies and outcomes. Finally meeting Jim's eyes, he said simply, "There is really no better way to approach this. We must go to Leonard as soon as possible and play our hand."

"When?"

"I would prefer now, but that is fueled by emotion since we still do not know his address. We will need to secure that tomorrow, using whatever means at our disposal. And then we need to go to him. Tomorrow night."

Jim gritted his teeth as he stared out across the bay. "Spock, he's not going to forgive us this easily, and sure as hell not by tomorrow night. In fact, he's probably just going to tell us to go the hell away again. Being around us might help his physical pain but it's only making things worse for him emotionally." Staring hard at the Vulcan, Jim drew in a breath.

"Spock…I'm going to win here. When it comes right down to it, I'm going to get exactly what I want. He's going to have to come back to me, fucking _marry _me, and stay with me forever. And I don't deserve it. I don't fucking deserve it one goddamned bit. If he wants to walk away from me and never look back, he should have that option. If he wants to forgive me, it should be because I threw myself at his feet and earned it. It shouldn't be like this."

Spock sighed heavily. "Jim, I fear there is no choice. I, too, would like to go about this the right way, the fair way, to earn Leonard's forgiveness and willingness at a pace with which he feels comfortable and secure. But that is an untenable option. His health is suffering and more importantly, he is coming under attack. The unresolved nature of the bond is leaving him exposed and vulnerable and I am completely of the mind that Dr. Tor both knows this and is willing to use it." His expression remained outwardly calm but Jim could see the rising emotional tenor burning in his eyes. "Jim, I do not wish you to think me insensitive. You are, of course, correct in your assessment. What we are demanding of Leonard is unjust and unfair but regardless, it _must_ be done. He is alone and in danger and I cannot, I _will not_ leave my bondmate so exposed."

Volatile black orbs beseeched Jim. "You and I made a promise that we would do anything necessary to seek Leonard's forgiveness and I stand by that promise. When you, as you say, throw yourself at his feet, I will be there right beside you. I will lay down every mental shield I possess and allow him full access to every part of me so that he will know the weight of my remorse and the depths of my commitment to him, to you, and to what I believe the three of us can become. But the circumstances stand against us and we do not have the luxury of time. Will you agree to tomorrow night?"

Pulling away, Jim strode back to the clay balustrade and gripped the rough railing. Tor was right about one thing. He'd tied them all up in one hell of a fucking web. The thought of going to Bones, of pressing the bond, made him physically sick. But what were his options? Bones was hurting and in danger and he couldn't ignore that fact.

Well, he'd just promised himself that he would trust his gut, hadn't he, and right now it was telling him that he loved them both with a depth and conviction that staggered him. And that was what he'd have to cling to, the hope that true love really would conquer all. Spock was right. They needed to complete the bond. Gripping the banister, he nodded tightly.

_/Don't fight it, Bones, please, please, please don't fight it./_


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N:** I had a very difficult time writing this chapter. In fact, I think I've actually rewritten about 75% of it. I just want to encourage people who have been reading this that this chapter only offers McCoy's limited perspective, so please don't judge too harshly. We know things about Spock and Kirk to which he is not yet privy.

And as usual, Paramount owns Star Trek. I now own all three seasons of TOS on DVD, lovingly purchased for me by the husband from a garage sale for $4.50. Whatta guy!

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Chapter Five

It was cold again; the kind of damp, penetrating chill that crept through your clothes and burrowed into your joints. A thick, cloying fog had rolled in off the bay, shrouding the city in a moist, oppressive blanket. Wispy white tendrils curled around the legs of one Leonard McCoy, navigating his way home from Starfleet Medical, but he barely took note. His mind was too busy dissecting his troubling encounter from the night before.

They were back, in the city and on the campus for the next two to three months. He had known they were coming, had seen the news and heard the buzz in the halls of Starfleet, but he had believed, incorrectly it seemed, that they would respect his boundaries and keep their distance. He should have known better. Jim was Jim and anything worth doing was worth overdoing, which was how he had found himself playing unwilling damsel in distress to their knights in shining armor. They'd even swept him off his feet, for God's sake!

"Hell," he thought as he tripped down the damp walkway. As much as he might hate it, he couldn't deny that a part of him had taken tremendous relief in the visual, tactile confirmation that they were alive and unharmed. Klingons firefights were never pretty but the Enterprise had been outnumbered and had sustained large-scale damage. Sure, Len had seen the news reports, had read the Starfleet memos from M'Benga. He had known that they were unhurt, but all the words in the world hadn't been worth the actual sight of them; hale, healthy, and in one piece back on Earth.

Seeing had been enough, though, or at least it would have to be. If he had some strange, nagging desire to seek them out, to talk to them, _touch_ them, take a scanner to every damn inch of them, well, he'd just have to suppress the hell out of it. Jim had nearly broken him. Spock had threatened his life. Whatever motivation might be driving him to reach out to them now was unhealthy and just plain stupid, and he didn't need it, especially in his current condition.

Coming to a halt at the entrance to his building, Len entered the code and slid through the door. The lobby lights pierced his eyes like a thousand tiny knives, sending rivulets of pain through his skull and down his spine. Fuck, fuck, godDAMMIT! He was past the point where self-delusion was even a possibility. The pain was growing worse every day. He had strained himself to the brink trying to compensate, trying to make sure that his inexplicable health crisis hadn't affected the research but he had finally hit the wall, and even he wasn't stubborn enough to risk the lives of patients just to prove his own tenacity.

Groaning heavily, Len sank down on the steps and rested his throbbing head in his hands. There just wasn't any choice. He'd have to take himself off the project until he healed. Or _died_. Right now, he didn't know which he'd prefer. It would be alright, others would pick up his work. Except, of course, everyone else seemed completely convinced that Tor's direction was the right one. In fact, the majority of the group had been treating Len like an exasperating mutineer for the last two weeks. But he couldn't give it up. He _knew_ he was on the right track, and if his colleagues chose not to pursue his theory, they'd lose valuable weeks that could cost millions of lives.

Dammit, he _couldn't_ leave the project. Gripping his fists in steely determination, he jumped to his feet. The floor rocked, tilting out from under him, and he found himself sprawled across the cold marble tile of the entryway.

_Shit._

His wrist and ass ached from the impact and his eyes blurred from the shooting agony in his brain. It was no use. He couldn't even see straight half the time. How was he supposed to study microbes when he couldn't even focus on what was right before his eyes?

Pushing himself up, he managed the staircase and made his way to his apartment. He'd make the announcement tomorrow. Then his promising research would fall by the wayside. And Vulcan would perish. And he would have failed…_again._

The thumb pad seemed blurry, another side-effect of his monster headache, and he found himself staring blankly for several moments before he let his head fall forward and rest against the door. He couldn't imagine what the neighbors would think if they saw him, but he just couldn't seem to muster the strength to work the lock. The cool of the smooth metal was comforting against his brow, the darkness behind his eyelids soothing, and he relaxed as the horrible, sickening pain began to slip into the background. Amazing how a little thing like a metal door could have such a therapeutic effect.

_Wait._

Dimly, in the back of his mind, alarm bells began to ring, and he slowly forced his eyes open. The light in the hallway was suddenly more bearable, the pain still constant but manageable, and a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. The shooting agony in his head had been his constant companion for months, never dissipating, never letting up until last night, when he had inexplicably found himself wrapped in the arms of his arch rival with his ex-boyfriend staring into his eyes. Somehow, _somehow_, they'd made the pain go away. And now it was fading again, which could only mean…

Straightening his spine, Leonard spun slowly, eyes wide and trained for possible danger as he scanned the hallway around him. A complete about face left him facing the stairwell, and sure enough, there was one James T. Kirk, staring carefully up at him from the landing with haunted, plaintive eyes and a small voice.

"Hey." He mouthed hesitantly.

Len froze. A mindless, shameful sense of joy swelled within him as he drunk in the sight of Jim in old jeans and a t-shirt, stripped of his Starfleet regalia and looking every inch the recalcitrant roughneck who had stolen Len's heart. Well, no, not quite. The swagger, the calm assurance that he associated with Jim was absent, overlaid by a defeated hesitancy Len recognized from his own painful past. _Shame_. Jim felt ashamed. And the realization caused something inside of Len to clench. A part of him, and it horrified him to realize just how big the part was, wanted to walk down those stairs, to touch, to taste, and to hell with their issues because if Jim held him, pulled him into his arms, whispered in his ear, then the pain would go away.

NO! _Hell, no. _He'd been proven a fool but damned if he would do it twice over. In fact, he had to get Jim away from here, now, before that pointy-eared bastard found out, for as much as it burned him to admit it, the Vulcan scared him. He'd felt Spock's fury and tasted the depths of his feelings for Jim, and he wouldn't risk that wrath again. And then, of course, there were the Vulcan's sudden, unsolicited acts of tenderness towards him, which only served to terrify Leonard more. He just couldn't get a handle on their game plan and it was disorienting as hell.

Well, he'd be damned if they were going to bring it into his home. This was his place, his sanctuary, and they were _not _going to take that away. Pinning Jim with a scathing glare, he snapped, "How the hell did you get in here?"

Jim's half-hearted attempt at a smile fell flat as his eyes drifted to the floor. "Your neighbor recognized me from the news. She let me in."

Len fought the temptation to roll his eyes. His neighbor. Of _course_. All Jim ever had to do was bat those baby blues and hand out a little of that Kirk charm. He'd fallen for it himself, and look where it had landed him.

Dammit, he just couldn't handle this, not today of all days. Fighting to keep his voice steady, he stared down the steps. "Jim, I want you to leave. There is nothing for us to say and I've got too much goddamn shit on my mind. So please, just _please_ get the hell out."

Jim took a step towards him and Len unconsciously fell into a retreat, pressing into the hallway wall. Tension and a stab of hurt flashed in Jim's eyes, but he immediately stopped moving, his hands raised in surrender as he stilled on the stairs. "You look so tired, Bones." He said, the genuine concern in his voice gauging at Len's fragile resistance. "You've been burning the candle at both ends, haven't you? Working on this cure at your own expense? Is it worth it, at least? Are you making any progress?"

Perhaps it was the pain, the exhaustion, or the rampant vulnerability he felt in the face of James T. Kirk but Leonard couldn't control the words that tumbled unrestrained from his mouth. "Worth it?" he asked with a hysterical giggle. "Hell, Jim, I'm probably blowing the whole damn thing. No one will listen to me and I'm too sick to complete my own work. I'm utterly useless right now."

Staring at the floor, he snorted derisively, "And you know what, it doesn't even matter. After all, with my track record, I'll probably find the cure about a month after the last Vulcan dies. But don't worry." He muttered as he shot his former lover a dark look, "If I recover, I promise I'll jump right back into saving your boyfriend."

Jim paused in his pursuit and closed his eyes as Len halted his retreat and stared at him. Taking a deep breath, Jim finally looked up, accepting Len's bitter glare. "I deserve that, like I deserve almost everything else you want to say to me. And I'm not going to lie and say it has nothing to do with Spock. But it's also about you, Bones. You're a good man and an excellent doctor but you won't believe that. You _need_ to save them, as much for yourself as for them."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jim pressed his lips into a determined line. "I know what happened between you and Spock in sickbay."

Len's expression turned outraged but Jim rushed right through it. "Look, I betrayed you, in the worst way possible. I know that and I am so sorry that I don't even have the words. I'm willing to do anything in the world to get you to forgive me but first I need to explain to you why it happened. I'm not going to offer you excuses, because there aren't any. It's just a reason, but I need you to hear it. Please, Bones, please, I just need you to listen…okay?" His voice cut off but his eyes continued to plead.

Indecision weighed heavily on Leonard. Slamming the door in Jim's face might give him some petty satisfaction, but it wouldn't give him answers. He needed to understand why, _why_, the man on whom he had taken his last real chance had thrown him away. His lips twisted bitterly as he caved to his own masochistic curiosity and said, "Alright_, _but you have to promise me that if I listen to you then you'll leave when I tell you to. And you _won't_ come back."

From the landing, Len heard a sharp exhalation of breath. "I can't make that promise, Bones. I'm sorry but the situation is…complicated. And we shouldn't discuss it out here where anyone could hear it. Please, just let me in for a few minutes. Everything will make a lot more sense." The blue eyes staring up at him were honest but bore the faintest trace of careful calculation. "It also has to do with your health problems."

Len glared. Dammit, the sneaky bastard still knew how to bait a hook. Turning around, he slapped the thumb pad and stalked through the sliding doors. "Come on, then." He threw over his shoulder as Jim bounded up the stairs and followed him into his loft.

The apartment was open-floored, bare and sparsely furnished, but the view of the city through the huge bay window was lovely, and Jim stared at it appreciatively. "Nice place," he mouthed quietly as Len dropped his things.

The glare Len shot him was fierce. "Get on with it."

Shoulders sagging, Jim nodded. "I'll try to keep this simple. You know I melded with the ambassador, right. Well, he and Spock also had a conversation, later on, when we got back to Earth." He paused for a moment, his voice hitching slightly with nervous determination. "See, Bones, the ambassador told Spock that we would have a unique relationship, one that would make us stronger and help define us. But when we started spending time together, we realized that it wasn't just a friendship. We had been lovers in the old guy's time and we finally realized that we were supposed to be lovers here, too."

The small breath Len had been holding escaped loudly as his eyes glazed with angry pain. "Well, that's just fucking _great_, Jim." He spit out, spinning away from his ex-lover to stalk into his kitchen. "Why the hell are you telling me this? What do you want, my fucking blessing or something?"

"No, Bones, please," Jim stumbled, his voice tinged with desperation. "I fell in love with him, okay, we fell in love with each other, but even after it happened, even after I loved him so much it hurt, I just couldn't let you go. And I know I was a fucking coward and you got hurt because of it but there's a reason why. See, I loved you both and even though I thought I couldn't have you both, I just couldn't make myself choose between you. It was like there was something inside of me, fighting to keep you both."

Taking several careful steps, Jim leaned against the counter and captured Len's glare with earnest eyes. "But, Bones, I was _right_. Spock ended up talking to the ambassador again and he told him that it wasn't just the two of us that were lovers. All three of us were together, you, me, and him. We were even married."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"What the _fuck_ are you saying to me?" The look on Len's face was a disconcerting blend of frightened realization and fury.

Girding his determination, Jim pinned Len with an unflappable stare. "Bones, please? _Don't _bullshit me now. You believe me, I know you do. You know I'm telling you the truth. _Don't You?"_

Turning away, Leonard rolled this unwelcome information over in his mind. Lovers, married, three...true….yes, true, he knew it was true…but how did he…know…

"How do I know?"

"Know?"

"_Yes_, that it's true. I _know_ that it's true. _Why_ do I know that it's true?"

Jim took a deep breath and gripped the counter. "Okay, Bones, I need you to listen to me and try to stay calm. You and Spock got really emotional in Sickbay, right, and he put his hands on you?" Jim seemed to be searching his face for confirmation but at that memory, Len sharply averted his gaze. "The ambassador also explained to Spock that the three of us have uniquely compatible minds, which is why this could happen in the first place. See, when he touched you, he accidentally initiated…"

"A meld?"

"Yeah? You _knew_?"

Len nodded, his eyes furious. "We didn't move our lips. We spoke but we weren't moving our lips." His voice trailed off as realization crashed down on him. "Jim, _dammit, _Jim, he jumped into my head. He's the reason my mind is all messed up. What the _hell_ did he do?"

Jim exhaled. "He bonded with you, Bones."

For a moment, Leonard only nodded, his face composed and unaffected, and Jim took two hesitant, hopeful steps forward before an eruption of volcanic proportions exploded out of the country doctor.

"Bonded? Like a Vulcan bond? Like a _fucking Vulcan MATING bond?_ Are you _kidding_ me?" Backpedaling furiously, Len stumbled against the counter, clinging to the edge for dear life. "Dammit, what do I need to do? We'd have to get a Vulcan healer to fix it."

Jim stepped towards him cautiously. "Bones, even if we could find a Vulcan healer healthy enough to help, it wouldn't matter. The bond is too established. It's also unresolved, which is what's causing all your pain." Stepping closer, Jim placed a tentative hand on Len's shoulder. "We don't have a choice here. We have to fix it."

"_Unresolved_?" Len blinked, shrugging Jim off. "Wait, you're saying…Are you saying you want me to _marry _Spock?"

"Sort of. See, Spock and I bonded, too…God, how do I explain this?" Jim shook his head. "Bones, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I love him, too. This is about us bonding, together, all three of us."

"You're out of your damned mind! I'm not bonding with _anyone_, especially not that green-blooded asshole. Are you crazy?" Tearing his eyes away, Len sagged against the cabinet, his face terrified and vulnerable. "Jim," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I can't. Please… we don't want each other…we'll hurt each other!"

Jim closed his eyes, pain and regret leaching off of him. "Bones," he said gently, "there's no choice here. We can't break the bond. And you're wrong. I want you more than anything. As for Spock, he was ready to give me up for you, and that's the honest truth."

"Dammit, Jim, you need to go, now, before he realizes you're here and comes looking for you."

Jim kept his hands raised in a gesture of non-aggression but continued to walk forward slowly. "Spock knows I'm here."

The color drained out of Leonard's face as his head shot up. "How do you know that?"

Holding his hands out slowly, Jim reached for Len's shoulders again, a placating expression on his face. "Bones, please don't freak out. I know you don't want either or us near you but there just isn't a choice. I can't just stand by and watch you hurt." Looking over his shoulder, Jim glanced at the closed apartment door. "I know he knows because he's here with me. He's waiting right outside."

For a moment, Len froze, his body seizing and his mind an empty blank. Then snippets and sensations of Sickbay, of helplessness and fear, inundated his mind, and inaction melted under the adrenaline fueled heat of pure panic. Pushing Jim away, he backpedaled furiously, retreating into the kitchen and placing the small counter between him and the door. "Don't you dare let him come in here…Jim…I mean it!"

Jim closed his eyes. "Bones," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry but he _has _to."

Len opened his mouth to protest but his voice was cut off by the low swoosh of his apartment door retracting into the walls. A wave of nausea hit him as Spock stepped inside his home, letting the door slide shut behind him. The Vulcan's eyes, dark and strangely tender, fell on Len immediately and though he made no move to come closer, the fathomless gaze spanned the distance to wrap the human in an ink-black net.

"Doctor." He murmured quietly with a graceful nod of his head.

Forcing himself to meet Spock's stare, Len loaded his gaze with pure fury. They were there; they were both there _again_, with their falsely comforting presence and sweet, fake promises. Well, the hell with that. He'd rather be ignorant and in pain than informed and indebted. More than anything, though, he wanted to get the hell away. Pressing himself defensively against the counter, he eyed the two figures standing between him and the only door. They were watching him warily, but Len wasn't buying that for a second. If there was one thing these two excelled at, it was causing him pain and he wasn't going to lay there like a sacrificial lamb. He had to get out.

Without warning, he bolted left towards the front door but Jim was ready, stepping in front of him and blocking his escape. Desperate and caged, Len swung a wild left hook that Jim managed to evade by inches. The second swing was luckier, catching Jim in the ribs and knocking him to his knees. Leonard's escape route was cleared but his own basic instincts tripped him up as the doctor in him glanced down to access Jim's injuries. It was a moment's hesitation but all that was necessary as a warm hand suddenly grasped his shoulder and a deep, gentle voice filled his mind.

"_Nam-tor hayal"_

And everything was dark.

*****************

There was something out there!

The thought came as a shock to Leonard, awash in a sea of warm, soft black; the thought that there was something or some_one_ outside of, separate from the snug little cocoon of his mind. A displaced, tingling sensation emanated from muscles and nerves he only vaguely recognized as his own. A body, _his _body, lolling in a state of complete relaxation, was slowly regaining feeling. A hard surface supported his weight, his legs dangling off the edge, but his body was surrounded by something firm, unyielding and hot. There was an insistent pressure against his cheek and he startled inwardly as a distant voice reverberated through his mind, strangely familiar, to chase him from his warm repose.

"_kum'i."_

There it was again, beckoning him, compelling him to……awaken? Now how the hell did he know that? By sheer force of will, Len dragged his eyes open to find himself in his own tiny kitchen. He was perched steadily on a three-legged stool with his head lolling back against…_oh shit. _How did this keep happening? How did he keep ending up helpless in Spock's arms?

He wanted to run, to propel himself out of the warm circle of Spock's embrace, off of the stool and out the front door, run until his lungs burst, until he forgot he'd ever heard the name James Kirk. He could do it now, he could run, because the awful, mind-crushing pain was gone…but that was all Spock, had to be, the damn Vulcan was doing something to his head! Dammit, look around, think, get away… but it didn't seem to matter. He'd run before, run and run and run again but they'd run faster and he didn't understand _why_. "_Goddamn Vulcan! I did what you said. I left. Why won't you leave me alone?"_

"_Jim."_

"_Spock?"_

"_Speak to him. Let him hear you."_

"_Bones?"_

"_Wha…Jim…wait!"_

"_Bones, it's okay. Please, I need you to calm down and just…."_

"_Calm down, you calm the fuck down! What are you…how are you….get the hell out of my head…now…NOW!"_

"Alright, okay. You're right. I'm out." The sound of Jim's audible voice, placating and concerned, caused a knot of tension to release and Leonard sank back helplessly against Spock's chest, his body exhausted and limp. Spock's hold was soft but firm, an inviting cradle that could seize and pin at a moment's notice. From his left, Jim strode forward and reached hesitantly, carefully caressing Len's chin and drawing his gaze.

"Bones, listen. I know it sounds crazy and that you're furious at us but even though I'm so sorry for the circumstances, I just _can't _be sorry it happened. See, I pride myself on trusting my instincts and they were telling me I shouldn't be picking, that somehow we all belonged together, but I was too much of a coward to act on it. I hurt you, I know I hurt you so bad and I am so goddamned sorry but we_ will_ make it better, I promise you."

From his perch, Len watched as Jim slumped against the counter, his posture heavy. It weighed on Len's soul, this sight of the young, brash ship captain so humbled before him. It seemed broken, wrong, and the crumbling outposts of Len's resolve took another hit.

Still leaning hard on the counter, Jim stared at the floor, "Bones," he tried softly, "Look, you're forgetting just how well I know you." Raising his head, he caught Len's eye with the corner of his own. "I get it, okay. I know how badly I fucked up and how much I hurt you. And yes, you have every right to be furious, to hate me, to throw us out and never see us again.

If this was a normal situation, I'd leave. I'd go, because I don't have any right to demand anything from you. But I'm telling you right now that even though I'd leave, I wouldn't want to. I'd sit and wait every day, hoping that you'd find a way to forgive me and let me back in. And I also know you'd want to let me back in, Bones. You'd want to because you love me like I love you, but you're too damned burned and hurt to admit it!"

A slamming door and the distant sound of laughter momentarily jolted the three men. Jim slowly slid his hands off the counter and starred at the floor, looking more the part of a miserable, vulnerable kid then a decorated starship captain. Strain marred his features and he pressed a finger into the bridge of his nose before continuing, "But right now none of this matters because the damn situation is not normal. You're a part of us and we _are_ going to complete this, _tonight,_ because it's damaging all of us but it's absolutely killing you, and I'm not going to just stand here and let you get hurt. I've done too much of that already."

Grasping another stool, Jim pulled it in front of his reluctant doctor, laid his hands on Len's knees and pleaded, "Bones, if you ever loved me then please, please don't fight us now because I _will_ have to fight back. There just isn't another choice. But later on, if you let me, I promise that I will fix this. I will do whatever it takes to make you believe in us again. Please, please, Bones, I'm fucking begging you. Please, just trust me one last time. _Please?_"

Leonard's mind was reeling, weighty sensations of love and pain battling for supremacy. Closing his eyes, he pressed back lightly into Spock's chest, soaking up the soothing fingers of relief the contact awarded his aching head. It felt good, the contact, driving away the searing agony that had battered away at his brain for months, but the implications terrified him because it meant they'd told him the truth. And he didn't care what Jim said; he'd be a damn third wheel. Forcing his stubbornly pliant body out of Spock's arms, Len pressed his forehead to the cold, tile counter as the pain encroached from the periphery of his mind.

_Fuck_. Jim was right. Spock's touch brought relief but it was only temporary. To pull away at all would mean the return of the chronic pounding in his brain, and the thought of that was just more than he could bear.

So what were the benefits for him, then, for submitting to his ex-lover and the bastard Jim threw him over for? Would it give him back his mind, his ability to save lives? Would he be able to continue his work? A hand was there, stroking soothing circles along his spine and Leonard was suddenly awash in sensation, the unmistakable taste of concern flooding him and the voice he knew to be Spock's ringing through his head.

"_Yes, Leonard, you will regain your mind."_

"_Dammit, you green-blooded prick. You're doing it again. Get the fuck out of my brain."_

The voice that answered him was surprisingly gentle. _"Leonard, you are far more rational than I often contend. You recognize the impossibility of that."_

"_Fuck you! _Len shrugged Spock's hand off hard, ignoring the immediate influx of pressure in his head as he turned and bit out sharply, "What do you expect me do? Am I supposed to act like everything is okay, like nothing ever happened? Am I supposed to be glad that you suddenly want to drag me into some screwed up, three-way arranged marriage? Should I be fucking grateful or something? Because I sure as hell _ain't_!"

The tension in the tiny kitchen was thick enough to cut. Jim clung cautiously to the wall as Spock and Len locked in a silent stand-off. Len fought valiantly, but his unguarded mind quickly turned on him as the steady press of the bond caused grimaces of pain to dance across his face. Tentatively, Spock flexed and extended a hand, letting it hover between them passively in a silent offer of relief.

Len could feel the hurt-fueled stubbornness and physical agony war within him. God, how could he do this? They said they wanted him, and he believed them. They said they'd do anything to earn his forgiveness, and he believed that, too. In fact, he could feel the truthfulness of their words echoing in his own mind. But just because they meant it didn't make it okay.

How the hell was he supposed to live with this? How could he look at himself in the mirror, knowing that after Jim had thrown him away, he'd gone running back at the first invitation? But no, _no_, it wasn't that simple, and he wouldn't make the situation worse by cheapening it with bitterness. Jim's guilt was tearing him apart, but Len just wasn't sure that could ever be enough.

And what about the Vulcan? He was just supposed to believe that Spock accidentally got into his head and now wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together? So what if he knew it was the truth? Did that mean he didn't get a choice?

The floor was wobbling beneath his feet and he clutched at the bench, eyeing Spock's proffered hand. His head pulsed and a pained hiss slipped between his teeth. To his right, he saw Jim tense but manage to hold his tongue.

Choice. He did have one, in a sense, because though they might try to push and coerce, in his heart he knew they wouldn't act without his permission. Eventually they'd go but they'd be back, pleading and contrite, as his defenses faded along with his health. Then he'd give in. Or die.

He wasn't ready to die.

He _was_ ready to save lives, though, and that possibility reared its head again. Spock had said he'd regain his mind, and despite his fear, Len trusted the Vulcan's word. _That_ he could cling to, _that_ he could live with. A piece of his dignity seemed a fair price.

But what came next? If the research team succeeded and New Vulcan was saved, what then? Could he live with them for the rest of his life, for there would be no going back. Could he barter himself for strangers?

Hell, yes, he could. He was a doctor, not a goddamned coward who took the easy way out. In the midst of his pain-addled brain, a new image rose to the surface and his gut clenched. _Joanna._ What was he thinking? He couldn't quit on his kid. She needed him to be her lifeline in the proper and refined cesspool of clan McCoy.

And then there was Jim, another face that came unbidden as his mind buckled under the pain of the bond. Jim had fucked up, fucked him over, but Jim _did _love him, and that love was fierce. Their trust was gone but Len couldn't deny the love, and he knew beyond a doubt that if he did die, Jim would never be the same. And Spock…_fuck._

There was no choice.

Sinking helplessly down on the stool, Len shut his eyes and sat limply as Spock drew him back into his arms. Finally forcing himself to meet Jim's plaintive gaze, he let his head fall forward in a single nod of mute concession.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut against tears of relief as he grasped both of Len's hands and pressed kisses into the clammy palms as light murmurs of, "Thank you, Bones, thank you," poured from his lips. He rose to his feet and Len caught only the slightest of nods before strong arms tightened around him.

Leonard could claim intimate familiarity with Vulcan strength, the way it had overwhelmed and cowed him in his own sickbay. It seemed different now, yet still intimidating, as Spock scooped him up and headed towards his bed. Jim was already there, stripping his clothes off before reaching out to accept Len's lolling form.

His muscles were still in a state of deep relaxation and he sat in an inelegant heap as Jim held him close and rubbed his back with soft, circular strokes as he whispered words of affirmation in his ears. He gently grasped the shirt hem and drew it up and over Len's head, eyes locked on the doctor's pinched face.

Len tried to focus on his breaths, to keep them light and even, but when two hands grasped his hips and drew him back against a blazing wall of heat, he almost gave in to panic. This was Spock, dammit, the _enemy_, the man who'd threatened his life _in his own damn sickbay_, who was cradling him protectively while Jim peeled away the rest of his clothes. And suddenly he was naked in Spock's arms, and a hot hand was grasping his thigh, lifting and settling him into the Vulcan's lap.

Shit, shit, _shit. _He didn't want this, not with Spock, but his head was singing with sweet relief, the incessant, pounding demand quelled by the contact, by the hands that splayed across his stomach and chest, by the lips and teeth that worried at the sensitive skin of his throat. The stubborn, heart-broken, cantankerous bastard in him wanted to deny their story and tell them to get the fuck out, but the doctor in him saw _relief of symptoms_ and dammit, he knew they were telling the truth. He gritted his teeth but it didn't matter because Jim was right. He was already theirs, whether he liked it or not.

At the touch of a hand against his face, Len's eyes snapped back into focus, on Jim, kneeling before him, concern marring his features. The raw emotion was too much and Len felt his eyes flood with tears. His thoughts rebelled into /_dammit, DAMMIT these bastards won't make me cry/ _but a renegade drop slipped down his face. He saw Jim hesitate, reach for it, but too quickly the hot hand that rested above his heart was reaching up and palming his cheek, pulling him around until he was eye to eye with the Vulcan who had unwittingly taken up residence in his head. His body braced involuntarily as the warm fingers swiped the offending tear away and gently stroked his face. God, he hated those eyes, hated the way he just fell into them and drifted away. They were black as pitch and just as damn sticky and they held him immobile as Spock spoke again in the recesses of his mind.

"_Leonard, it is illogical to dwell on past events. You and I are bonded and the time to safely break the bond has lapsed. Those are the facts and I cannot change them. In addition, I do not believe I would want to change them if I could. The bond exists and it must be complete. Now."_

"_Dammit, Spock, I hate you. You're in my head, I know you can feel it!"_

"_Not hate, Leonard. Rage, fear and distrust but not hate. I do not believe true hate is in your nature. As for the rest, I shall endeavor to earn your forgiveness and change your mind."_

Warm lips pressed down on his and a hand found its way to his nape, pinching, pressing for capitulation. The presence in his mind expanded out as the meager bond was thrown open to its limit. Len was awash with sensation, the feel of his own lips, of his own back pressed to Spock's chest, magnified back at him. His breath, his pulse all beat in time with Spock's, their minds' most instinctual controls synchronizing as Len's resistance began to crumble. Sensing the surrender, Spock broke from him, turning his face towards Jim, who looped an arm around his back and kissed him with the same ferocity. Jim stole his breath, replaced it with his own, then drew him into the crook of his neck and held him in an iron grip, whispering his love against Leonard's cheek. On his cheek Len could feel the pulse in Jim's neck, beating in sync with his own even tempo, and his medical mind roused itself enough to wonder what the _fuck_ Spock was doing to them before Jim twisted and came back for more. A familiar tongue breached his mouth and plied him back to complacency. He was dimly aware of hot fingers on him, in him, but the thought felt sludgy and far away.

There was a brief second of warning, a subtle shift of Spock's presence in his head and then Leonard was inundated as Spock dropped all his own mental shields and seized the slim, delicate golden cable that was their bond. The connection amplified as Spock, Jim, and the complex links of interlocked minds washed over him in waves. He was drowning in it, their feelings for each other, their feelings for him. Reflexive stubbornness caused him to kick towards the surface and he managed to emerge just in time to register Spock's intent, to feel his body being lifted.

It wasn't painful or even forceful per se. The word that sprang to mind was _determined. _Spock lifted him with determination, breached him with determination, gripped his hips firmly and impaled him, drawing him down fully into his lap with determination. Nerve endings that should still be deadened by the mother of all nerve pinches suddenly fired to life and his back arched, his arms flew back over his head, reaching to clawpushpullcling to the Vulcan's neck. His mouth fell wordlessly open as multiplying sensations rolled over him. His head lolled mindlessly, and Spock seized the opportunity to place nips along his jawline as thoughts of possession and need and _ours_ bombarded Len through the fragile link. He could feel Jim's hands on him, stroking him to readiness, a hysterical thought /_I'm a doctor, not a contortionist/_ pushing to the front of his mind in a brief flash of lucid thought.

Spock shifted carefully, reclining back against the pillows, pressing Len against his chest and tangling their legs together in front of them. Len starred in half-dazed amazement as Jim straddled them both and slowly sank down, completely engulfing Len's treacherous cock and grinding their hips together. His eyes screwed shut and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Len's as small, panting breaths escaped his lips. Len's arms flailed, digging in to sheets or thighs or whatever fell beneath his hands because his body remembered this familiar touch, wanted that feeling. It had been so long.

He was assaulted by sensation, in him, around him, running up and down the bond and he realized that _this _was the game, to overwhelm his senses, to override his resistance. And it was going to work. He knew it the instant Jim pressed a feather soft kiss against his lips and ground against him. This wasn't a _sexual_ position. As far as that went, it was damn near impossible. No, this was about intimacy, about touch, about three hearts beating in alignment as Jim and Spock rocked against him, over, under and into him with just enough gentle force. It was about his breath hitching in time with Jim's, Spock's fingers pressing into his cheek and blue eyes piercing him as a voice pleaded, "Come, Bones, come for us, please."

And he was done for. He felt Spock pounce as the last shred of his mental barriers collapsed under the intensity of a triplicate climax, pure pleasure shooting through his system, dancing out to the very tip of every screaming nerve ending. He felt a sharp, elastic yank and his mind was airborne, rocketing towards theirs, into theirs, the familiar constraints and outlines of himself suddenly snapping into place in a unified whole. Not alone, never alone again, as thoughts and feelings not his own became his own, became a part of his collective thinking. Love and fear and hope and despair all fought for supremacy before blind panic finally battled its way to the forefront. And as stubborn southern irascibility reared its head again, Leonard rebelled against the intrusion in the only way he had left.

He fainted.

* * *

It was bright on the other side of his eyelids, the light pouring through the thin skin with a pinkish glow, but whatever temptation the sunlight might offer was quickly overshadowed by the need to avoid the reality that full consciousness allotted him. As long as he slept, he could continue to cling to that last tiny bit of denial but once he opened his eyes the full weight of his predicament would come crashing down on him. That was true, at least until the steel strong fingers of a newly cemented bond suddenly roared to life inside his mind.

Groaning inwardly, Leonard angrily acknowledged the futility of his actions. His mind, his last, best refuge had been summarily invaded and overrun. And the great irony of the situation was that a large part of him found that thought rather _comforting_.

A shadow passed in front of the sun and the bed beside him dipped. Bed? Bed, yes, he was lying on his bed, wrapped snugly in his blankets. His body was loose and relaxed and, a little residual soreness notwithstanding, completely pain free. His head, his mind, was strong and clear for the first time in months and the implications of this hit him hard. It meant he was well, that he could stay with the project, continue to push for his research.

It also meant that they'd been telling him the truth.

As he forced his eyes open, his gaze fell immediately on Jim, sleeping deeply on the couch across the loft. He appeared to be resting naturally, his features calm and peaceful in repose. Len had little time to consider this, though, as his attention was immediately captured by the Vulcan suddenly leaning over him on his bed.

They stared at each other, words so insufficient and unnecessary. Len braced himself for the sense of sick dread he had come to associate with Spock but the emotion was just not there. Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of _calmsafetylove?_ as Spock gently pushed him onto his side and slid into the bed behind him.

Dammit, now he was being _spooned_ by the Vulcan. Would this laughable nightmare never end? He detected relief and a faint sense of amusement through the bond and his natural state of annoyance finally won out. Rolling into the Vulcan's embrace, he shoved back against Spock's shoulder until they were face to face and thought, "_What is so goddamned funny?"_

Spock fixed him with a serious stare_, "I am recalling something my counterpart told me, about deriving pleasure from you illogical mental commentary. It is…comforting to realize that I share that pleasure."_

With a pissed off growl, Len shoved back and attempted to sit up but his equilibrium was still shot to hell and he immediately tilted to the left. His vision blurred and his extremities tingled, but he felt Spock's sure hands catch and lower him carefully to the mattress. He could sense concern tinged lightly with annoyance as Spock stretched out beside him again and gently cupped his face.

"_You are too weak for histrionics, Leonard. I realize that healers are often the most difficult patients, but you must allow yourself time to recuperate."_

"_YOU seem to be fine!"_

"_I am a Vulcan and genetically accustomed to telepathic interaction. In addition, you were already weakened from the unresolved nature of our bond. That will all improve now, but you must give it time."_

Len felt himself drifting away under the subtle suggestion Spock infused through their bond. He was vaguely aware of hands gently rubbing his shoulder and arm in a soothing, circular motion. He'd been taught that Vulcan's, as touch-telepaths, generally avoided contact if possible out of personal comfort and politeness but that knowledge just served to drive home the reality of his situation. What difference would touch make between bonded mates?

Frustrated by his own thoughts, Len struggled to roll over and face the wall again. His emotions were only exacerbated by his pointy-eared fucking _husband _who gently helped him onto his side, caressing his shoulder and nuzzling at his neck. And it wasn't fucking _fair_. He didn't fully understand what the hell they'd done to him but he could feel his anger dissipating, his resolve crumbling, could feel how easy it would be to roll over into Spock's embrace and give in. He could already sense that his resistance was most likely in vain but he'd be damned if he'd just cave in to them without a fight. They'd kicked him to the side, abandoned and humiliated him. Did it matter that they were now wrapping themselves around him, mind and soul? His heart said yes but his self-respect was still ready to mount a pretty strong defense.

He felt Spock's presence, felt him mull over each of his thoughts, felt when he arrived at disappointed acceptance. Reaching across Len's body, Spock found his hand and lightly traced it before gently linking their fingers. It was a startlingly intimate gesture and Leonard found that it wasn't in him to shrug him off.

"_Very well, Leonard. We will respect your need for space to come to terms with this and we will be patient. But I intend to leave you with two thoughts. Primarily, I wish you to know that you are wanted and needed, regardless of your doubts. And secondly, you need us. I assured you that the bond would cease to cause you pain if we resolved it. We have merely begun that process by coupling. True resolution requires acceptance and adherence. If you continue to fight against it, it will hurt you. I wish to prevent this but I have already acted against your will and to continue to do so would be counterproductive at best. Instead, I will endeavor to convince you. In the meantime, though, Jim and I will give you your privacy. _

He squeezed Leonard's fingers before sliding off the bed. From across the room, Len could hear him shaking Jim awake on the couch and the doctor in him momentarily overwhelmed the angry cynic. "Is heokay, Spock?"

"He is well, just a bit tired. I will see that he rests when we get home."

Jim stirred behind him. "Yeah, Spock?"

"We should go."

"Wait. Is he coming?"

"Not yet."

Len heard Jim suck in a long breath, felt the jumble of emotions that ran through the bond. He felt the bed sag again and Jim was there, squeezing a shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"_I love you, Bones."_

He buried his head in his pillow to block out the sound of the shutting door.


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: I don't think this whole disclaimer thing is very nice. I don't own Star Trek. Paramount owns Star Trek. Paramount KNOWS it owns Star Trek. And even though Paramount knows this, they still rub salt in my wounds by making me say it.**

**Paramount own Star Trek...alas...**

* * *

Chapter Six

The steady, whirring hum of the lift as it rose through the floors of Starfleet's on-campus officer's housing was strangely soothing. It was functional and consistent and gave him something with which to ground himself as the thudding pace of his companion's heart increased. Once again, he found himself grateful for the additional control he was able to exert over his own body, for while his nervousness was considerable, he was not required to wear it so obviously on his sleeve, so to speak. Across the lift, with pale skin and clammy palms, his reluctant bondmate was not so fortunate.

The lift slowed and the door slid open with a fluid whoosh. Holding up his arm, he gestured towards the human to precede him and watched in relief as his mate gamefully nodded and pushed away from the wall. Taking two steps into the wide, glass-enclosed hallway, the doctor took a moment to examine the expansive view of the academy grounds spread out beneath them. The view was impressive, he did admit, but it was really quite logical that it should be. Starfleet, like any other organization helmed by bureaucrats, suffered a regrettable tendency toward garish pomp and circumstance. It simply would not do to house the highly decorated senior officer's of the Federation's flagship in anything other than over-bloated luxury.

Turning away from the windows, he cast a glance at his companion, who was still staring blindly at the glass. The elevated temperature and stiff lines of the human's body all indicated a state of extreme agitation, but he could appreciate the reasons. What he was asking of the man was quite possibly the hardest thing he would ever have to do, more so even than their original bonding, for this act indicated acceptance and a conscious decision to walk a path beside them. In light of this, if his doctor needed minutes or even hours to prepare himself, he would wait patiently at his side.

"_He's home, isn't he?"_ The unfamiliar but welcome sound of the human's voice in his mind stirred him from his thoughts.

"_He is. I believe he is awaiting us with a great deal of anticipation."_

From across the hall the human snorted. _"Yeah, well, he better calm the hell down. I don't need to be inundated with Jim Kirk the very second I walk through the door."_

"_Leonard, I can assure you that Jim's primary motivation right now is your safety and comfort. He will maintain whatever distance you require, as will I, until you become more accustomed to your surroundings. It is enough that you are here."_

He met with several moments of silence as Leonard chewed over his words. The human's tempestuous, jumbled emotions seeped across the bond and he could detect a great deal of embarrassment among the volatile brew.

"_You're going to have to teach me that shielding thing, Spock. I need some privacy in my own head."_

Spock nodded, catching the doctor's eye meaningfully. "_There are a great many things I will teach you, all the necessary disciplines involved in a bonding, but you are still recovering. Once you are completely healthy, we will begin."_

"_Soon. I'm feeling much better now."_

"_Thank you, Leonard. I am relieved to hear it."_

Turning to look at the door in front of them, Leonard sighed, his features tense and tight but resigned. "Well," he vocalized aloud, "This isn't going to get any easier. Let's just do it already." Shooting Spock a dark glare, he quipped, "You'd better not try to carry me across the threshold or anything."

"That would be illogical, Doctor, and your reaction would undoubtedly be unpleasant."

Len nodded heavily. "Okay, then. Let's do this."

Stepping forward, Spock palmed open the front door.

*****************

Anxiety was simply illogical. In any given situation, the sensible approach was to examine the viable options, identifying the most practical and beneficial course of action, and then pursue it to completion. This tactic left no room for worry, for obsession over the ramifications of one's choices. As a Vulcan, Spock knew this.

As bondmate to two humans, he was experiencing anxiety nonetheless.

The impressive façade of Starfleet Medical had been looming before him for the better part of twenty minutes, all hard lines and unyielding gray slab granite, aglint in the misty San Francisco midday sun. The building was actually quite elegant, but today it struck him as imposing, even intimidating, an unnatural sensation for a creature such as himself. The true threat, he knew, was housed deep within the building in the high level security Xenobiology lab, slaving away on promising research while stubbornly continuing to ignore his own health and well being.

It had been two weeks, and Spock and Jim had remained patient and kept their distance, fully intending to allow Leonard to initiate contact in his own good time. Such a plan had seemed quite feasible until Jim had awakened him in the middle of the night with a debilitating headache and a sense of isolated panic running through his veins. A quick meld had only confirmed what Spock already knew. The bond was acting out again, trumping their attempts at patience and Leonard's bid for freedom.

It would appear that he had once again failed to anticipate the complications of bonding with humans. As he had explained to the stubborn doctor, true resolution of the bond required acceptance and adherence, but he had neglected to take into account the human interpretation of such a concept. Vulcans, driven by logic, were often comfortable with long separations from their mates, at least in the physical sense, since they were raised from birth to place more worth on their mental connection. Humans were equally ingrained to associate close physical proximity with the concept of mating and marriage, and this particular tendency was playing havoc with the three of them now. It simply did not matter that Leonard thought he wanted to avoid them or Jim intended to give him space because, deep down, their subconscious minds believed that married couples were supposed to be together.

Apparently, the bond was quite aware of this and it was taking action to draw them back together. It had been un-intrusive at first, faint whispers across their link that toyed with his instinctual sense of protectiveness but posed no real threat to his control. Day by day, though, the sensations had increased, encroaching upon him while monitoring the ship's refit, meeting with the admiralty, or lecturing at the academy. It had even broken through during his meditation. He, of course, was a lifelong trained telepath, and he had born the intrusion fairly well. Jim, however, was experiencing genuine pain, despite his best efforts at shielding, and this left them both with deep concerns, for if Jim was suffering, worse must be happening to Leonard's untrained mind.

He had promised that he would not pressure his reluctant bondmate, and it was a promise he fully intended to keep, but Vulcan logic and human common sense both dictated that he must attempt to make contact with his wayward doctor before the human's sheer rebelliousness landed him back in a state of mental distress. It was this train of thought that had brought him to the steps of Starfleet Medical. Now, if he could only throw off this disquieting, human sense of _nervousness_ and go inside.

He might have sat in a perpetual state of indecision had a vaguely familiar face not spotted him across the courtyard and hurried over.

"Commander," called Dr. Philip Settle, striding across the grassy lawn of the facility. "It's good to see you again."

Spock's eyes settled on the elderly, open-faced man who had drawn Leonard into the New Vulcan project. He inclined his head gracefully as Settle drew along his side. Tracing Spock's line of sight, he glanced up at the looming building. "So, what brings you to our facility today, Commander? Dropping in on your former shipmate?"

The question was good natured but Spock still rankled under the implications. However, he was not one to miss an opportunity, so he schooled his features carefully. "Indeed, Doctor. I was in the vicinity and desired to speak with him. Do you happen to know where he is located?"

Settle smiled. "I'm on my way there myself. Why don't I walk you up? We can surprise the old boy."

Spock nodded, flooded by the unique sensation of relief. "That would be most acceptable, Doctor. Please lead the way."

They walked across the grass and up the stone stairs, Settle keeping up a steady conversation as Spock listened carefully and catalogued the human's words. He was grateful for the unofficial update on the team's progress and was gratified to learn that they'd experienced several breakthroughs. It wasn't until security had waved them into the turbolift, though, that the most pressing piece of information came tumbling out of the good natured doctor.

"McCoy must be thrilled that you're back, Commander. He had a pretty rough time adjusting to being on Earth again and when the news about your ship came in, it hit him pretty hard. His health suffered, but he still refused to slow down, no matter what the rest of us said." He paused to shoot Spock a conspiratorial smile. "I'm sure you've seen that side of him." Spock felt his hands clench.

"Anyway," the human continued, ignorant of his distress, "He's been a hundred times better lately. Fewer headaches, and he seems to have his appetite back. I'm glad some of the stress is off of him. He said he'd felt much better since he saw you and knew you were okay."

A rush of illogical warmth spread over the Vulcan at the doctor's disclosure, but he had no time to consider it as the lift purred to a halt and slid open. Following the doctor out, Spock took a moment to glance appreciatively around the well-stocked facility that housed the team's labs. He was grateful for what he saw. It appeared the Federation had spared no expense in their quest to save New Vulcan.

A lab technician approached Settle and the two began a low, harried conversation. Tearing himself away for a moment, the doctor said, "It was a pleasure to see you, Commander, but I really need to handle this matter. Dr. McCoy's lab is straight down that hallway, third door on the left."

Spock glanced in the indicated direction. "I am allowed to be in the facility unsupervised?'

Settle cast him a strange glance. "You were granted full clearance to the project, Commander, along with your captain and Dr. McCoy, before you came to pick us all up, right? As far as I'm aware, your access to the project was never rescinded." The tech began to gesture excitedly and Settle turned back to him.

Turning towards the outlying hall, Spock contemplated the irony. All their subterfuge and they could have had easy access to Leonard via the lab. They could have gotten to him earlier. It was pointless, however, to dwell on hypotheticals. It was just as likely that an earlier confrontation would have been less successful. Leonard had been sick and weak, and while he took no pride in it, Spock was relieved that the circumstances had allowed them to resolve the bond, at least temporarily. It was now up to him to extend further comfort to his mate. Leonard was hurting. They were close enough for him to feel it easily, despite the blocks he had employed to respect the doctor's need for distance.

The keypad to lab three was disarmed. Palming the door, he stepped into the elegantly equipped lab and scanned the room. It appeared empty and he took two steps inside when …

"Are you out of your goddamned, green-blooded MIND." A livid Leonard McCoy was suddenly right in front of him, wiping his hands and glaringly furiously. "You get the _hell_ out of here, Spock. NOW!" Pacing forward, Leonard crowded him out the door and into the hallway.

Spock raised his hands and employed an apologetic tone. "Doctor, it was not my intention to intrude upon you. I realize that Jim and I promised you your space but…"

"Don't you realize where the hell you are, you pointy-eared _fool_?" The doctor's vitriolic rant ran right over his apology. "In case it's somehow _escaped_ your considerable powers of observation, Mr. _Spock_, the reason you're a green-blooded computer is because you're a _Vulcan._ And there are over a hundred compounds scattered around in that room that could be the cause of a massive epidemic that is killing _Vulcans_!"

Spock took in the words carefully, the strange sense of warmth returning as he grasped the doctor's meaning. "Dr. McCoy, I appreciate your concern but you yourself know that the members of this research team have tested my blood and declared me immune to the disease."

"So you want to run out and play Russian Roulette with a _theory_." The look Leonard pinned him with was scathing. "My God, you've been spending _way_ too much time with Jim. It's making you reckless." Retreating back to the door of the lab, he glanced back at his mate with a resigned grimace. "Look, Spock, I need you to go wait in my office. I need to decontaminate myself before I run a scan on you." His voice shrank as he pulled his gaze away. "Please?"

Spock inclined his head. "It was not my intention to be reckless or cause you distress, Doctor. I apologize." Ignoring Leonard's snort, he continued, "Please direct me to your office."

Twenty minutes passed before the doctor came storming into his room, brandishing a medical tri-corder, long enough for Spock to determine that the doctor's fit of pique, though appearing no different than his other angry outburst, boded well for the state of their union. Despite everything he had done to damage their relationship, the doctor still reacted with immediate concern for his health and well being, and while he acknowledged that this was Leonard's tendency towards everyone, he still couldn't help but feel grateful.

Striding through the door, Leonard brandished his scanner like a weapon. "Don't move." He ordered as he ran the tri-corder carefully over the length of Spock's body. The Vulcan sat immobile, making no effort to move or speak until his mate's concerns had been sated.

"Alright, you're fine, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a damned fool thing to do." Laying the scanner down, Leonard moved towards his computer. "Stay out of the labs, Spock. Doctor's orders."

"Would you find my demise distressing?" the Vulcan asked honestly.

Leonard stilled, his hand fisting against the window. "I don't want anyone else dying on my watch. Not you, not anybody."

"I see."

An influx of anger roaring through the bond was the only warning he received before Leonard whirled on him. "You see _nothing_. You're immunity isn't the only thing that makes you stand out from Vulcans, Spock. From what I've heard, they don't lie. You, you do it all the time." Sinking down on a stool in front of a large, paper strewn counter, Leonard allowed his head to hang. "You told me to leave the ship. The _implication_ was that if I did, you'd leave me alone. Guess what? You're still around. You told me that you'd stay away from me until I was ready and yet here you are, just striding into my place of work. And you told me, you _promised _me, that if I let you finish that damned bond then all the pain would go away." The eyes he forced on his mate were pained. "Well, you know what? You were wrong about that, too." Turning away, he closed his eyes and braced his head on his hand.

Pushing out of his chair, Spock rose slowly to his feet but, noting the way the doctor's shoulders tensed, he simply stood his ground and folded his arms behind his back. "Leonard," he began carefully, "It was my complete intention to keep my distance until you were more comfortable. Unfortunately, it would seem that the bond has other intentions."

"You talk about it like it's alive. Like it's some parasite or something."

"In a sense, it is. Alive, I mean," he clarified when the doctor's eyes widened. "The bond takes on a life of its own, of a sort, seeking out the bondmates' true desires and guiding them in the directions that will lead to their mutual fulfillment. It is actually intended to be quite the opposite of a parasite. Rather than taking away from the host, it nurtures and strengthens."

"Oh, yeah," McCoy bit out, "That's been working out real well for us." Fiddling with his computer, he pulled up some data charts. "Dammit, Spock, I feel better, but it's still interfering with my work. You see these," he gestured towards the screen, "I've been trying to analyze this information all morning but I can't make heads or tails of it. It's just swimming around in my head. I never had this problem before, and _you _told me that I wouldn't have it again as long as I went along with you. Well, maybe I don't feel like I'm dying anymore but that wasn't the deal. The deal was I fucking marry you, or whatever, and I get my mind back. So where the hell is it?"

Meeting his eyes, Spock took several careful steps forward, pleased that Leonard didn't back away. "Doctor, I apologize for misleading you. It was unintentional, though you may find that difficult to believe." Turning his head, Spock let his gaze drift towards the window. "Leonard, there is much we didn't make clear to you in our rather hurried explanation the other night. The problem is that what we are attempting is largely unprecedented. You are aware, of course, that my older counterpart helped Jim and I to piece together what transpired between us, using his own experiences as a template. However, their bonding took place under very different and less tempestuous conditions."

"I'll bet."

"The ambassador has been somewhat reluctant to offer speculation, feeling that he overstepped in the past, so I am rather blind as I attempt to moderate the bond. Also, I am taking into consideration two unique human minds, which, in addition to my own, are in heavily conflicted states.

I told you that the pain you felt would ease as long as we adhered to the bond. Thinking as a Vulcan, I did not anticipate that physical separation would play a part. However, you and Jim are humans and your minds seem to find a lack of close proximity to be indicative of strife in a relationship."

Off to the side, Leonard scoffed. "So, you're telling me that the bond is actually going to force us to _move in_ together? And that it's doing this because that's what we all really want?"

"Precisely."

"Bullshit, Spock. I don'twant to be near you two. I swear it."

"I am sure you feel that way, and I appreciate why, but the bond reads into your unconscious thoughts. It transcends anger and pain, strips away your pride, and lays bare that which you truly feel at your core. Vulcans treasure this because it generates a state of complete honesty between mates. We are accustomed to this mindset. You are not."

Leonard's eyes narrowed. "Suddenly you two are all about honesty? When did this great revelation take place?"

Spock felt a very human sigh welling in his chest. "Doctor, I have wronged you in many ways but I have never been dishonest with you. I have been too honest, in fact, wielding it as a weapon to push you and Jim apart. As for Jim, he was dishonest, which he freely admits, but he has explained why. Neither of us is looking to justify our actions but I ask you not to lash out in your anger and make frustrated accusations. There are already so many things for which we must atone."

A small thump drew his attention back to the table, where Leonard had dropped his head into his hands. The doctor's shoulders were sagging, and Spock could not block the full onslaught of weary defeat that rippled across the link. The temptation was back again, to touch, to soothe away the distress of his mate's mind, and Spock found himself contemplating the idea through new eyes. Perhaps it was illogical, considering Leonard's temperamental personality, but Jim had frequently lauded the benefits of trusting one's gut, and every instinct Spock possessed was telling him to take the chance, to reach out and take away his mate's pain. Moving several steps closer, he pushed out tentatively across the bond.

"_Leonard?"_

The human shuddered slightly but the furious outburst Spock feared did not occur. Emboldened, he tried again.

"_Leonard, I know that you can hear me. I do not wish to upset you with my intrusion but it is my desire to give you comfort and aid. In order to accomplish this, though, I will have to place hands on you." _The doctor's posture stiffened and nervous energy suddenly crackled across the link. _"Leonard, I will not hurt you. Instead, I will be able to ease your pain, if you will trust me enough to allow me the opportunity._" Taking two more steps, he slid carefully up behind the tense, seated human, allowing his considerable body heat to radiate against his mate's skin._ "Leonard, please trust me. Allow me to help you now."_

"_Dammit, Spock," _the angry southern drawl rang through his mind, "_it's not that easy."_

"_I realize that. However, you know as well as I that things cannot continue like this. Something has to act as the catalyst. Something has to be the first step." _Leaning in closer, he allowed his breath to ghost over Leonard's neck as his fingers rose and hovered a mere inch above the doctor's skin. He noted with satisfaction that Leonard leaned back unconsciously, further narrowing the gap between them. The doctor's distress was still palpable, though, and his words, when they came, were pained.

"_Spock,"_ he managed, "_Hell, don't you think I know that. It's just…I can't…"_

"_Leonard, this is not you surrendering. You are the injured party here. All I ask is that you give me an opportunity to help you so you may continue to help others." _The fingers shifted closer, "_Please, Leonard, let me help you."_

In front of him, the doctor exhaled. "_What are you going to do?"_

The first touch was light, intentionally so, but the sensation of real, physical contact drew a sharp gasp from both of them. Spock employed his considerable grace to the task as he slowly ran his thumbs down the sides of the doctor's throat and over the expanse of his tension sharp shoulders. His mind quickly catalogued the human's shoulder musculature as his fingertips skimmed over the bare strip of skin at Leonard's neck; trapezius, rhomboids, pectoralis major and minor. He would ease the stress from each one.

His deft fingers attacked, searching out the knots and coils of tension that afflicted Leonard's back, causing the doctor to huff and fall pliant as the tautness simply melted away under the Vulcan's warm, capable hands. He worked carefully, deliberately, focusing on the cords of the neck, concentrating on deep and surface tissue, applying quick, careful pressure to the tendons.

On and on he pushed, down the length of the human's spine, gauging and kneading as Leonard's stubborn defenses began to erode. A roiling sea of warring emotions was lapping against his shields and he could not help but soak them up. The thoughts were heavy and it dawned on him that the doctor was falling asleep beneath his hands, his dedicated ministrations soothing the human into slumber. A fierce protectiveness welled in Spock's chest as he considered his mate's weakened state. _"Leonard_, "he thought, _"You are not taking care of yourself again."_

The human's mind riled defiantly. _"Dammit, Spock, I'm fine." _He grumbled. "_Don't you have anything else to worry about?"_

Gently tugging the doctor's shoulders, Spock guided him back, flush against his chest. Leonard muttered something caustic, but his spine relaxed naturally into the lines of Spock's body and his head lolled lazily to rest against the Vulcan's shoulder. Running his hands up and down the lengths of the doctor's arms, Spock's fingers finally came to rest along the throat of the blue medical tunic. His fingers toyed with the black hem, feeling each stitch and imperfection of the fabric, before finally throwing caution to the wind. Pushing the neckband wide, he slipped his fingers inside Leonard's shirt to skim over the warm skin beneath.

The doctor emitted a startled huff but continued to press against him, his lips parting slightly as Spock's fingers worked their way down his pectorals. His cheek nuzzled unconsciously at Spock's neck, and the Vulcan found himself leaning into the touch. The hazel eyes were open again, fixed on him, windows behind which lay an elaborate web of thoughts and emotions. He saw them, discerned each as a separate entity within a whole, circling and whirling in the complex dance that was Leonard McCoy. He did not know the steps, could not yet keep the time, but oh, how he wanted to learn. To be without it would be unbearable and once again he marveled that he had ever believed this man unworthy. The eyes were pulling him, drawing him closer, beckoning him to fall in and drown when a tiny shard of crystal clarity suddenly pierced the haze.

A thoroughly illogical gasp tore itself from his throat as his mind snapped back to the reality of Leonard's office. His unbidden hand had snaked up to cup the doctor's chin, drawing him firmly against his shoulder as their lips hovered a hair's breadth apart. He felt the warm whisper of breath, and the burning temptation nearly overwhelmed him when a voice broke the silence.

"How does this keep happening?"

Suppressing the urge to shake his head clear, Spock pulled back slightly to stare down at his mate. "To what do you refer?"

The glare Leonard shot him hinted of annoyance. "This, here. How do I keep ending up in your arms?"

Spock considered the question as he continued to stare down at his mate, still reclining against him and holding his eyes. There was no malice in the question, no biting sarcasm. It was an honest inquiry, almost curious, and Leonard's eyes held nothing but open confusion. Allowing his finger to trail lightly over the human's cheek, he answered truthfully. "I do not know. However, I have discovered that I prefer you to be there."

His admission caused a start from the languid human but he didn't immediately draw away. Instead, his eyes ran searchingly over Spock's face, digging for the truth or a possible agenda. Finally, he drew himself slowly back, his actions determined but tinged faintly with reluctance. Spock kept a hand on one shoulder to steady him as he turned his attention back to the computer. He studied the figures and charts carefully, and Spock could see the remaining tension leach out of him.

"You are now able to comprehend the information?"

Leonard nodded but avoided his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, it makes sense." Staring hard at the screen for a moment, the doctor suddenly reached out and switched off the monitor. "I can't deal with this today," he muttered as he strode across the room to lean against his desk. Spock watched from the worktable, intrigued by the realization that he was learning the doctor's unique tells. By his estimate, the human's body language currently indicated that he was weighing a difficult decision, and while the temptation to offer his decidedly biased opinion was strong, Spock wisely chose to hold his tongue.

He knew it the moment Leonard selected a course of action, saw it in the set of the human's body and felt it course through his own mind. Looking up, the doctor finally met his eyes. "I just can't get away from this, can I? Every time I think I'm going to get a break, I just get pulled back in."

"Leonard…"

"Don't you 'Leonard' me, you green-blooded _bastard_. Dammit, I'm going to have to do this. I'm going to have to actually go live with you both, like some freaky new age commune." Pushing off his desk, he began to pace the length of the room. "Why the hell aren't you more upset about this?"

Eyeing the agitated human, Spock found it difficult to keep a trace of affection out of his voice. "Leonard, I will say again, I am not upset at all about the state of our bonding. I regret the way in which it occurred, I regret your fear and discomfort and wish I could do more to alleviate them, but I do not regret the fact that we are joined. If we were presented with the option of breaking the bond, I would only agree if you asked it of me."

"Oh, _Bullshit_."

Spock quirked a brow. "Leonard, I will refrain from commenting on your illogical metaphor and instead point out that you know what I say is true."

Freezing mid-stride, the human glared at his mate. "I bet. Do you make a habit of throwing everybody you care about into walls?"

Spock felt his stomach clench at Leonard's words. Across the room, the doctor's face contorted in horror and a fierce stab of guilt tingled across their link.

"Shit, Spock, I didn't…"

He raised a hand. "Doctor, I must insist that you refrain from offering _me_ any apologies as it pertains to the events that took place in Sickbay. Please?"

Turning away, Leonard rested his palms on the surface of his desk. He seemed to be reaching, pulling strength from the solid, familiar structure beneath his palms and Spock watched in fascination as the doctor slowly shook his head. Keeping his face hidden, he asked simply, "What do you want from me, Spock?"

"You would appreciate honesty?"

The human snorted. "_Yeah."_

Moving slowly, carefully around his skittish mate, Spock approached Leonard from the side, keeping his eyes trained on the other man's face. Leonard studiously ignored his progress but Spock could sense his agitation coupled with a hint of curiosity.

"What I desire, Leonard, is for you to accept this bond, to accept us as your mates. I desire your forgiveness so that we can begin to build a life together." Pausing for a moment, he contemplated the human, but Leonard's expression remained hard.

"You think that's so easy?"

"No, Doctor, I believe the requests I am making are exceptionally difficult and patently unfair, none so much as my final wish." Cautiously, and without expectation, Spock extended his hand towards the human. "Leonard, I desire that you come with me, to the home I make with Jim. And I ask that you do this now."

"_Fuck."_

"Yes, Doctor, eventually. It is, after all, a component of the bond, but you should not feel any pressure in that vein."

"Dammit, Spock. It's just an expression!"

Spock sighed. "Yes, I am aware. I was simply making an attempt at levity."

"Yeah, well you suck at it."

"You may be correct."

A heavy silence fell in the office as Leonard stared at the offered hand. Warring sensations of horror and need crackled on the bond, but the murky pull of resignation drowned them both out. When he met Spock's gaze, his eyes were sad.

"There aren't any other options." He murmured.

Pinning his gaze, Spock voice rang out with the force of commitment. "There _are_ options. There are choices. We are confronted with an inescapable situation, but we still possess the power to determine how we will respond to our circumstances. We can decide to mold our lot in a positive direction. To do so, Doctor, would be both logical and emotionally beneficial."

Taking a step forward, he placed his hand directly in front of the reluctant human and gentled his voice. "Leonard, you are valued and needed. However, I cannot do anything further to convince you of this. At this point, your subsequent actions will have to be an act of faith."

He closed his mouth and waited, his arm still hovering in front of Leonard's eyes. Another unfamiliar sensation was welling within him, but this one he recognized; hope, that most human of emotions, which carried them through triumphs and great personal tragedies. He felt it now as Leonard's fists balled and his angry glare softened as it fell on Spock's face. Taking a deep breath, Leonard extended a shaking hand and laid it on Spock's upturned palm.

"Alright, dammit. I'll take the chance."

* * *

Everyone wondered why Leonard McCoy always had something to say. They wondered to themselves, they wondered to each other, and a few brave souls even wondered to his face. For the many who wondered, the answer was quite simple. He'd rather share his unsolicited opinions than suffer through uncomfortable silences.

Case in point; the decidedly awkward _family dinner_ he was currently enduring. He'd known it would be like this, and when Jim had made the offer to cook, he'd been tempted to refuse, burying himself in the refuge of chemical compounds and Vulcan DNA like he had for the past nine days. However, the earnest, hopeful expression on Jim's face had worn him down, and he'd finally agreed. Besides, with Jim in control of the menu, it would be a damn good idea to have a doctor in attendance.

So here they were, seated around one end of the elegant dining room table in the executive suite Jim and Spock has been assigned for their stay. The food was actually pretty decent, he had to admit, and he admired the effort Jim had put forward to whip up something more sophisticated than frozen pizza. It was another chip out of his defenses, one more to add to the steadily growing pile that Jim and Spock had been accruing over the past week. They were wearing him down, gradually but surely, and though he did his best to fight it, he knew he was no match for the tenacity of his two mates.

Mates.

_Shit._

He even called them that now.

The first time it happened, he stopped dead in his tracks, still balancing two beakers and a PADD. He given himself a vicious internal tongue lashing but it had done no good. The word was a part of the bond and it encroached on him relentlessly, weaving its way into every thought he had of them.

The damn word was so…_primal_, and it reminded him that whatever this was, it wasn't just some expendable relationship. They had _literally_ wormed their way inside him, and there would be no letting go. In fact, the more he fought, the more pointless he found his efforts.

They wanted him. Badly. Enough to put up with his ornery, rotten attitude and stony silences. He couldn't deny it, and though it both terrified him and pissed him the hell off, he was starting to realize that he might actually want them back. He burned with furious shame every time the warm feel of it reared its damn head, but it was there, pulsing and permanent and buried in layers of his psyche he couldn't even see, let alone acknowledge. It was growing stronger, though, and while his consciousness might curse and scream, he knew his instinctive urges were just waiting for the right moment of weakness to pounce.

It had started the moment Spock had opened the door, ushering him into their apartment. Jim had been waiting, and his casual sprawl across the couch had all the earmarks of a staged scene. He had been polite and reserved, pushing nothing, but Leonard had seen the way his eyes lit up the moment he'd walked through the door, and it had been the first chink in his armor.

Jim wasn't nearly as good as Spock at shielding and since Len was practically an open book, their emotions had just volleyed back and forth for much of that first night. Leonard had found it completely exhausting, and after about two hours of tense avoidance, he had carefully asked if he could crash in their guestroom. Jim's face had blanched, but Spock had met him with calm understanding.

"Leonard," he'd said softly, "It will accomplish nothing for you to sleep in the other room. The bond is demanding that you co-habitate with us in the manner customary to your people. This would include sharing a bed."

He hadn't been able to hold back at that. "Are you _kidding _me? I've got to sleep with you? Dammit, Spock, what's next?"

The Vulcan's knowing look had sent Len backpedaling into the opposite wall. "Hell, no! I am not…you can't…Jesus Christ!"

Spock had actually sighed. "Leonard, you knew this was inevitable."

"Inevitable, yeah, but _immediate_? What's the matter, Spock, are grace periods considered to be illogical?"

He'd bristled as a slight tinge of sympathetic amusement seeped across the bond. "Leonard, you will have the time you desire. It is enough, I believe, that we merely sleep together. However, there will come a time when copulation will become necessary."

Well, they'd cross that damn bridge when they came to it. In the meantime, he'd spent the last nine nights clinging to the edge of the decadent king size bed that dominated the master suite, wrapped in an extra blanket and a long sleeved t-shirt like they were his last line of defense. Every night he would sneak off to bed early, trying desperately to nod off before they made their way to the room. Every night, Jim would slide up behind him, keeping a careful six inches between their bodies as Len lay in a stiff line, feigning sleep that never came in time. Six inches. It felt like nothing and the great abyss all wrapped into one.

At least they were trying to give him what space they could. He knew that and was grateful, though he'd never admit it aloud. But the damn bond made demands on them as well, demands they were used to satisfying regularly. They'd managed to ignore it for the first few days but Len could feel the tension building. It was uncomfortable as hell, and a part of him had been tempted to tell them to forget about his delicate sensibilities and just do it before they drove all three of them crazy. He hadn't been able to say anything, though. A large part of him had been too afraid they'd ask him to join them. A smaller part had been worried he might agree.

They'd held out for a while but finally caved last night, waiting until he'd retreated into his pseudo-sleep to scamper away to the farthest corner of the farthest guest bedroom. They'd been incredibly quiet and shielded from him to the very best of their abilities but it hadn't mattered. In the heat of their passionate and long-delayed climaxes, they might as well have been raucously fucking in the bed right beside him, for all the raw sensations that had assaulted him across the bond. Lust, need, and deep, binding love had saturated his senses, leaving him wrung out and unbalanced, and the situation had only worsened an hour later when Jim's fingers had reached out and lightly, timidly skimmed over the shell of his ear. An intense yearning had inundated him, a strange mixture of desire with three very distinct flavors, sprinkled over with unfulfilled need. Still hugging the edge of the mattress, he'd felt himself cringe. The two of them alone weren't satisfying that damn, demanding bitch of a bond. It wanted all three of them and it wanted them soon.

So here they sat, tension pinging off of them as they attempted small talk about their days and concentrated on the surprisingly tasty vegetarian chili Jim had cooked up. The conversation was mundane and common but the air was practically crackling with nervous energy, and an unofficial countdown was echoing in the back of his mind. This was it, it had to be. A showdown was inevitable and he had a terrible feeling that the moment of truth was finally upon him. He just didn't know if it was going to lead to screaming, fist throwing, or a three-way on the dining room table. He knew which one the damn bond was pulling for.

Jim's artificially animated voice petered off again and silence reigned in the dining room, broken only by the occasional scrape of cutlery on plates. Focusing all his energy, Len stared at his hands, willing himself to ignore the demanding pull coming from around the table. He could feel Jim's eyes on him, beckoning him, and suddenly he couldn't resist it anymore.

He felt a tiny snap, as if some fetter had fallen free of its own volition. Who was he kidding, after all? He was frightened and emotional but most of all he was _pissed off_ and it was about time he let himself bask in that luxury. He wanted to scream at Jim, dump out the full measure of his hurt and rage, because if he didn't, then he knew he'd never be able to kiss him again. Raising his head, his hazel eyes locked on Jim's blue gaze with a look of scathing challenge.

Hands clenched.

Shoulders tightened.

Jim's comm beeped.

They were picking him up in an hour, he'd said as he snapped the tiny device closed with disgust. Something about a top secret command conference. It would take at least three weeks and as the captain of the flagship, his attendance was compulsory.

Jim's eyes were fixed on the floor as he told them all of this but they locked on Len hard when he finally looked up, and they held promise. Leonard could practically hear the voice in his head. _"This isn't over, Bones. Consider this a temporary reprieve."_

As Jim headed into his room to pack, Len helped Spock clean the kitchen, mulling the situation over. Three weeks with no Jim. Three weeks with the Vulcan who admittedly still scared him. Three whole weeks. Len sighed.

The hits just kept on coming.


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N: Two quick notes. First, I realize that Jim, or at least his narrative voice, has been conspicuously absent of late. The last couple of chapters just really needed to be Bones and Spock but the next one will be all Jim, cuz we need to hear how he's been feeling. **

**Also, I try to never fish for reviews but this story has been difficult to write, since it deals with a lot of heavy angst which can be delicate to handle. I love to know what people think. I am also very receptive to criticism and take it seriously, using it to improve my writing. All feedback is appreciated. **

**Paramount still own Star Trek. I might own every damn episode and every damn movie from every damn series but it just ain't the same.**

**Chapter Seven:**

The apartment was dark and silent, save for the patter of rainfall against the window panes, but this had become their pattern over the past six days. He and Leonard would return from their days' work and eat together quietly, making what small talk they could manage, and then retreat into awkward silence. He would undertake a meditation period, giving Leonard the excuse he needed to slip off to sleep alone. Leonard might have been furious with Jim, but he was certainly not afraid of him, which had allowed the other man to assume the nightly role of buffer between Spock and their skittish mate. Jim was gone, though, leaving Spock and Leonard alone to face their issues.

And their sleeping arrangements.

They shared a bed, but the huge expanse of space they kept between them was painfully obvious. It pricked at him constantly, and the temptation on those long nights to reach out a hand and touch his reluctant mate was close to overwhelming. Close, but not quite enough. He was a Vulcan, he was in control, and he would do nothing to pressure the restive doctor.

Employing his exceptional night vision, Spock easily navigated the length of the hallway and approached the master suite. The room was completely dark and he found his eyes unwittingly drifting towards the shadowed outline of his mate's sleeping form. The sight held him in thrall. He always knew when Leonard was feigning slumber and respected it, but tonight was no charade.

The doctor lay propped against the headboard, reclining into his pillows. He had fallen asleep while reading, the forgotten PADD resting against his chest. His head drooped slightly to the left and his long-limbed body sprawled limp and loose across the sheets, the usual tension erased in repose. The harsh set of his mouth was gone, his features easy and relaxed and _peaceful. _He looked comfortable and content, mindsets that Spock rarely witnessed, as Leonard generally wielded his cantankerous nature like a shield. He had vague recollections, though, prior to his ill-conceived tampering in Jim and Leonard's relationship. The quiet ease the two had found in each other's company had been obvious. He had catalogued it, at the time, as an obstacle, but he found now that nothing would please him more than to have that gentle openness turned on him.

Standing idly at the foot of the bed, the Vulcan repressed a frustrated sigh. His body felt tense, anxious, and decidedly less controlled than he would like. A distinct sense of yearning was building within him, growing stronger as he gazed at the sleeping human. He knew this feeling, had experienced it with Jim many times, but though Jim had been gone for several days, Spock was certain the sensation was not based solely on his absence. No, this was about the human mate who was right in front of him.

He wanted Leonard McCoy.

And he could not have him, at least not yet. He would not place any more pressure on the doctor, not when he had already pushed and demanded so much. He longed for his mate, but he could, he _would_, control that desire and wait until Leonard was ready and willing.

His vaguely drifting attention was suddenly snapped back into focus, in time for him to notice one pertinent detail. Leonard's eyes had opened.

The doctor's tension quickly re-emerged as he used his elbows to propel himself into a sitting position, making a grab for his tumbling PADD. His eyes scanned the darkened room before narrowing in on Spock, who was still standing statuesque at the foot of the bed. When he spoke, his voice was cautious.

"You alright?"

Spock nodded. "I am well, Leonard. I just found myself lost in thought."

The doctor's eyebrow rose. "Lost, huh? Hardly seems logical, Spock. Don't you computer types have some kind of built-in navigational systems in your mind to keep you from getting lost?"

Leonard's body remained tense and alert, but Spock appreciated the jocularity of his comment nonetheless. Taking advantage of the lightened mood, he strode quickly to bed, shedding his robe and sliding between the sheets as casually as possible. Rolling to his side, he watched as Leonard slid stiffly down the mattress, keeping a wary eye on him as he moved. Finally settled, the human addressed him with genuine concern. "You're sure you're alright?"

The odd, warm feeling he had come to associate with the doctor welled in his chest. This was his mate, the man who always, _always_, sought out the well-being of others, despite his own needs, despite his own fears. This is what Jim loved, what he himself had come to need, this warmth and generosity buried beneath the belligerent veneer. Meeting the doctor's eyes, he attempted lightly "Leonard, as you are quite fond of pointing out, I am half-human. I would assume that you would find my wandering thoughts rather satisfying."

Leonard's eyes narrowed, and he harrumphed with a slight nod of his head. "Okay, then." Nestling further into the blankets and pulling them tight around his throat, he screwed his eyes shut. "Uh, goodnight." He fell silent.

Minutes crept by as Spock watched the careful, controlled rise and fall of his mate's steady breaths. Leonard's body was stiff and the tiny, flickering movements beneath his eyelids belied his restful state. Staring in fascination, Spock carefully considered the many facets of the man before him. He found the face remarkably pleasing, for even the tense set could not mar the lush beauty of the features. Spock had spent a great deal of time in Jim's head amidst a truly impressive amount of raw data, but even in the veritable melee of Jim's mind, the feel and taste of Leonard's mouth had always been close to the forefront. Quite simply, Jim loved that mouth, loved the press of the doctor's full lips, the rough tangle of his tongue, the quiet, panting moans he would breathe in Jim's ear. Spock's gaze burned, his eyes drawn to that mouth. It had been soft, he remembered, had been warm when he had kissed Leonard during their bonding. It had piqued his desire, but it had tasted of fear and resignation, not passion or need.

Breaking his stare, he allowed his eyes to drift down his mate's sheet-covered body. This, too, he had first learned from Jim, leaping back from that part of the captain's mind as if burned when he had first discovered the contents. It _had_ been a burning, though, and the sensation of Leonard beneath Jim's hands had seared itself into his psyche. He would not dare use it to excuse his actions, but he had realized long ago that the memories he had unintentionally thieved had reared their heads in Leonard's sickbay when he had finally laid hands on the doctor. His desire to touch, to seize, had broken his carefully maintained controls.

It was his controls, in fact, that were ebbing now, his body reacting despite himself. The sight and scent of the human was wreaking havoc on his senses. No, no, this would not do. He owed Leonard much, and thus far his attempts to provide space and make amends had been dashed by the press of their bond. It was here now, demanding again, but this time, he resolved, he would fight it.

Forcing his gaze back up the Leonard's face, Spock was taken aback when the human's eyes suddenly blinked open, gamely meeting Spock's piercing stare.

"I can feel you looking at me, you know. It's distracting as hell." Rolling onto his back, Leonard glared at the ceiling. Spock felt the subtle tendrils of indecision drifting across the bond, saw the shadows of confusion, fear, and the weight of the inevitable as they played upon his face. They were thick, weighty emotions, difficult to bear from a bondmate, but buried beneath them, he felt something else, a quickening sliver that set him aflame.

Desire.

Not his own.

Leonard's.

A coil was building in his stomach, painful, irresistible, multiplied by the twin sensation building in his mate. It pulled at him, drew him in, and it took every inch of his exceptional will power to fist the sheet and hold his hands at his side. He could not give over to this, he could not. He had promised. He knew, though, even as the words played out as a mantra, over and over again in his head, that he was lost. The bond was drawing deeply buried, unspoken needs to the surface.

"Oh, _God_." The simple, frail plea whispered between Leonard's lips, his body trembling as reality fractured. "This is going to happen, isn't it?" His eyes were wild as they turned to meet Spock's. There was fear in his voice but what Spock detected above all was understanding and resolution. The protests were real but only surface deep, bolstered by betrayals, insecurities, and fears. The instinctual layers buried beneath, though, were unified and responding with potent determination. Spock felt his body forsaking his resolve, burning arousal pulsing through his veins. A small gasp tore from Leonard's mouth, his eyes shutting as a pleasing flush, hot and visible to Spock even in the dark, spread over his face and throat. Reaching out tentatively, he laid his hand over Leonard's chest, felt the raging heat and the beat of the racing heart. A weak sob escaped the doctor, his body jumping at the contact. Pulling his hand away, Spock carefully lowered his shields and reached.

"_Leonard? Leonard, please look at me."_

The human did not answer or open his eyes but he did roll to his side. His breathing was fast and erratic but six quick breaths seemed to give him strength. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes and met Spock's gaze.

"_Leonard, this will not happen unless you choose it."_

The doctor's hazel eyes danced ferociously. "_Dammit, Spock. Who the hell even knows what I want anymore. All that matters is that I can't resist it. It's too much."_

Pushing up on one arm, Spock held his stare. "_Leonard, if you do not wish to continue, I believe I can help you. We should be able to stave off the pull if we present a unified front."_

A bitter but grateful smile slowly spread across the doctor's face. _"Spock. You would, too, wouldn't you? But that wouldn't change a damn thing."_ Pushing up on his own arm, Leonard brought them to eye level, his gaze nervous but determined. "_What difference does it make if we give in or fight as long as we're doing it together? That's the whole point, right, to bring us closer together. Eventually we're going to surrender because I know I can't resist this forever."_

"_Is it your desire not to engage in intercourse?"_

Leonard ducked his head. "_Hell, just throw it all out there, why don't you. You said it'll have to happen, right?"_

"_Leonard, it will become necessary, but you should not view this as surrender. You must remember that our bond has no personal consciousness, no agenda of its own. All it does is reflect our truest desires, the ones that we are, perhaps, reluctant to face."_

"_Then do it." _Even within his mind, Leonard's voice sounded shaky. "_Dammit, just do it because right now my body is overriding my common sense. Right now I _do_ want it."_ Breaking their gaze, Leonard rolled onto his back and screwed his eyes shut again. "_Please, Spock, please just do it."_

Reaching out slowly, Spock gently grasped Leonard's hand and laid it on his chest. With careful, firm strokes, he began tracing the lines of his fingers in an intimate gesture as old as Vulcan's history. Sporadic needles of pleasure began to spread through his extremities at the touch, and the hitched breath of his mate revealed that Leonard felt it as well. Sliding up to press his body against the doctor's side, he found a rounded ear and whispered audibly, "What are you expecting, Leonard? Are you anticipating me simply taking your body while you lie placidly beneath me?" Leonard said nothing, his body still awash in sensation, but a faint whisper in his mind told Spock that he was correct. ."

Slowing the movement of his hand, he threaded his fingers through the human's, enjoying the jolting feelings that circled through their link. With a gentle tug, he pulled Leonard up and carefully sprawling him across his chest. Leonard was hesitant but his eyes were determined when they met Spock's. Placing his other hand at the small of the doctor's back, he continued, "If you truly do not want this, Leonard, I will help you. Otherwise, please realize that Vulcans view sexual congress as an act of unifying intimacy with our mates. I wish to share this with you, very much, but I cannot offer or accept anything less."

Moments passed as they assessed each other. He could feel Leonard's indecision, his confusion tangling haphazardly with his need, and marveled at the mind that could sift through such chaos. He stayed still, lying immobile as his mate fought with his decisions above him. He could not apply pressure; to do so would be counterproductive but, above all, it would be wrong.

"I'm still scared of you." The voice of his mate called him back from his contemplation. "I've seen inside your mind and I know you won't hurt me again but it still doesn't matter." Leonard glanced away, a flush of shame creeping up his throat. "Okay, it's not really fear, I guess. It's just the vulnerability of the situation. I know you won't hurt me but I also know that you _could_ if you wanted to."

Spock sighed. "Leonard?"

"Yeah?"

"In the past several months, I have been forced to confront elements of my personality of which I am deeply ashamed. As a result, I too feel vulnerable."

I ask you to consider this. You allowed me access to your body and your mind. You allowed me to give you comfort. You took my hand and allowed me to bring you to our home. I realize that it is still badly damaged, but all those actions indicate a modicum of trust." Unthreading their fingers, Spock reached up and cupped the doctor's face. "I appreciate your fears and am deeply remorseful for causing them, but we both know those feelings will not lessen with avoidance. If you wish to feel more secure than the only logical course of action is to face your insecurities, especially the ones I have wrought upon you. You are brave, Leonard. You have done this many times before. Please, do it again now."

Releasing the human's cheek, he forced himself to relax back into the pillow. "I will do nothing, Leonard, but await your decision. I will support it, whatever it may be, but if you wish to continue then you must initiate."

He'd barely finished speaking before the mouth descended, rendering him speechless with its sweetness, and he leaned lightly into the kiss, receptive but not demanding as Leonard searched his face. Raw desire was pulsing through him and he nearly growled when Leonard suddenly pulled away.

"Don't you dare make me regret this?"

Looking up, Spock met the entreating eyes. "To the utmost of my ability, I will not."

The lips, when they returned, were lighter against his own, probing, inquisitive, curious. Spock lay quietly, the ideal specimen beneath Leonard's detailed exploration. They were men of science, after all, accustomed to careful, patient dissection, to painstaking and miniscule notation. So it was as Leonard explored his mouth, his tongue the perfect probe as it thoroughly examined and catalogued each texture, each taste.

Leonard's hands were on his skin, up under the thermal shirt he wore to stave off the chill of San Francisco's harsher climate. With Jim's absence, the shirt had become a necessity, since Leonard was in no frame of mind to share his excess body heat. Could he hope, though, that this was changing, that the hands grasping at the flannel fabric, sliding it up and off of his body, might herald a true breakthrough. Leonard's eyes were tentative but his touch was sure and firm, stroking and kneading the planes of Spock's chest, running his fingers over the lightly furred skin of his stomach, letting his hand come to rest on Spock's side, his face alight with childlike wonder at the beat of the Vulcan's heart.

Spock was battling, clinging to his fading resolve. The open, fascinated expression on Leonard's face was assaulting his desires. He wanted to engage, to touch his mate, to explore him just as thoroughly, but the human's lingering unrest halted him. Leonard was still sprawled atop him and the long awaited sensation of his mate's hands willingly upon his body was barely enough to hold him immobile.

"So, now the plan is that _you_ just lie placidly beneath _me_?"

His eyes flew up and locked on the human hovering over him? "Leonard, I do not wish to apply any pressure…"

"Oh, bullshit, Spock. This is awkward as hell but I _do_ actually want it, okay. I do. But not like this. If we're really going to do this, then let's fucking _do_ it and stop over-thinking and analyzing it." Leonard's voice was rising, angry emotions bleeding through, and he braced his hands to push himself away. "Let me tell you something, Spock. I don't do casual sex, either. I never have. Which should give you a pretty good goddamn idea why what you and Jim did fucked me up so bad. Because I was committed! I was in it for the long haul. _I _didn't throw over my lover. _I _didn't attack an innocent man. So don't you dare sit here and lecture me on the importance of monogamy. I've _always_ played by those rules. And then, after everything that's happened, everything you've said, you're just going to lie there and leave me all alone? Where's the intimacy, Spock? Where's this connection, huh? Is that just more of your bullshit, something I can stick up there right along with 'Oh, your headaches will go away'? God_dammit, _Spock."

He pushed away, drawing his knees up and rolling. The fury and pain of his outburst had nearly drowned the sensitive Vulcan, open and vulnerable before his mate's distress. Spock heard the words, felt the anguish, and genuine panic began to knot in his stomach. No, no, he could not let this happen. They must not lose what little ground they had gained. Logic dictated that they should separate, allow time to temper the tumult of their emotions, but logic did not fling his arm up and around Leonard's waist, did not pull his mate against him, did not seize his lips hungrily. It was pure emotion, distinctly _human,_ that jousted with Leonard's tongue and feasted on the moist cavern of his mouth.

Spock could feel Leonard's indecision, pulsing want battling suffocating rage, and he kissed him harder, cradling his head gently and drawing him close to his chest. _"Leonard,"_ he whispered across the bond_, "Leonard, please hear me. I am sorry. I am so sorry. You are correct about everything. I do not deserve you but I cannot help but want you. Please, Leonard, please do not retreat. We face so many obstacles and we will never escape them if we keep traversing the same roads."_

"_Dammit, I don't know how to let it go. It's a huge weight on my chest. I just want to hit you."_

"_Very well."_

"_What?" _Leonard drew back in shock. "_Hell, Spock, I don't mean it."_

Spock stared into his eyes. _"Yes, you do. Your pain is that palpable. If striking me would provide an adequate release for your despair, I will consent to it. I will consent to it as many times as you deem necessary."_

They pulled apart, on their knees now in the middle of the bed. Leonard eyed him warily, unsure of his next step, but Spock remained kneeling, his expression stoic. His people deplored unnecessary physical altercations in most contexts, but Vulcan mating customs had roots steeped deeply in violent tradition. In light of his offenses, if all he endured was some well-placed strikes at his mate's hand, he could probably count himself fortunate.

He watched carefully as Leonard balled a fist in his lap, his hazel eyes fixed upon it. The doctor's muscles were tense and trembling, his emotions at a crescendo, as his hand suddenly drew back at the shoulder. Spock tensed slightly, clinging to the hope that his decision, while thoroughly illogical, was the right one, when Leonard suddenly dropped his hand into his lap. "I can't, Spock. A part of me wants to but I just can't. I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake."

His words ceased as the Vulcan took his limp hand, gently smoothing the fist open as he brought it to his mouth. Pressing light kisses along the palm and wrist, he met the human's eyes. _"Leonard, you are right. You are not a man of violence and the foolishness of my actions should not take that away from you. You do, however, need a catharsis."_

The doctor's eyes rolled. _"Hell. You and Jim were meant to be together. You both think sex is the solution to everything."_

"_Certainly not everything, Leonard, but I do believe it will help us here." _Continuing to rub light circles into the doctor's palm, Spock laid his hand on Leonard's shoulder. Applying slight pressure, he drew Leonard slowly forward, the doctor's knees coming to rest between his own thighs, their faces an inch apart. _"May I, Leonard?"_

A shudder ran through his mate but the hands that slid up his chest were sure. _"Okay, Spock. Okay."_

Any fears that Spock may have harbored regarding Leonard's willingness died beneath the firm pressure of his mate's mouth. His kisses were gentle and sweet, but beneath that sweetness, Spock detected that buried aggression. It drew and intrigued him, calling to his own more primitive instincts. His hands on Leonard's shoulders tightened slightly, experimentally, and he was relieved when the doctor leaned further into his touch, his own hands digging in to Spock's flesh, his own tongue breaching Spock's lips.

"_I'm not made of fucking china."_

The harsh words coursed through his mind as the rate of his mate's tongue increased, thrusting sharply, coaxing his own mouth into aggressive action. He allowed his body to respond as he processed the doctor's words. "_Leonard, it is not my intention to imply…"_

"_I saw you."_

"_Leonard?"_

"_You and Jim, remember? I saw you two together. I've seen how you make love to your mate, and its nothing like this. If you really want me, then fucking act like it!"_

The chains of restraint that had held his primitive desires to lay claim to his mate snapped beneath Leonard's biting permission. He surged up, straddling the human's knees, pulling him tightly against him as their mouths smashed together and fought. His hands pressed down the length of Leonard's spine, pinning their bodies together as he grasped the hem of Leonard's t-shirt. The need to simply tear it from his mate's body was strong, but his last vestige of common sense caused him to simply drag it up and over Leonard's head, flinging it away. Then, _then_, they were together, flesh to flesh as they should be, hands, lips, tongues, and teeth caressing, tasting, worrying at accessible skin.

How he wanted this man, his need so great he found he couldn't even spare the energy to castigate himself again for his shortsighted foolishness. Each sensitive nerve ending was responding with vigor to the sensual assault of Leonard's body and mind. The few meager scraps of clothing they still wore were stripped away and suddenly they were bare and exposed, the warmth of their flesh washing over each other's body as they pulled close again.

His restraint was being tested. He had no patience for slow, sensual exploration. He needed satisfaction, needed to press Leonard close and feel his arousal, hear the sounds of his pleasure and release. His mate, he noted with relief, was equally impatient, tearing his lips away and cupping Spock's face.

"_Lube."_

Spock broke away quickly, producing it from the bedside table and pressing it into Leonard's hand. The doctor stared at it blankly for a moment, slight confusion dancing over his features. _"But I thought…wait…how do you want to do this?"_

"_I wish you to penetrate me, Leonard."_

The doctor's confusion melted into genuine shock. "_Really? I thought…I guess I just assumed…but don't you generally…"_

"_Jim and I frequently exchange sexual roles, as do the two of you, if I am correct."_

Leonard's eyes widened. _"Have you two discussed this?"_

A hint of shame marred Spock's face. _"I, too, have stumbled upon your sexual encounters, Leonard. I chanced upon them in Jim's head, for surely you must know that you are always on his mind. I apologize for that intrusion, but I will not apologize for wanting you to do to my body what you have done to his."_

A subtle smirk ghosted across the doctor's face. _"Is that a challenge, Spock?"_

"_It is merely a suggestion."_

"_I'm open to suggestions."_

The softness of the pillows cushioned him as Leonard pressed him back to the bed, lips on fire against his. His arms and legs wrapped around his mate and a jolt of intoxicating pleasure shot through him as their naked genitalia stoked against each other. _"Leonard, please?" _he pleaded, his hands pulling at the human's shoulders, _"Please proceed, I beg you."_

"_Dammit, Spock, I've got to get you ready."_

"_You do not. I am capable of forcing my muscles into a state of relaxation. You will not injure me. Please."_

The blunt, slicked head of Leonard's erection pressed against his entrance. _"You're sure."_

"_I am."_

The first initial thrust was slow, careful and assessing but incredible nonetheless. The pleasure raced through his nervous systems, stimulating his fingertips and toes as, inch by inch, Leonard seated himself. Spock's arms and legs rose unbidden to twine themselves around his mate's back, pressing their bodies close, causing Leonard to slide against him as he drew back and thrust in again and again. Their eyes were locked together, their bodies locked, rocking against each other with increasing fervency.

Leonard's fingers pressed into his shoulders for leverage as he thrust forcefully. His eyes were wild and the quick, and the panting gasps that poured from his mouth tasted of mint tea and honey as Spock breathed them in. The temptation to meld was enormous, but he forced himself to hold back. Leonard did not entirely trust or understand their bond and he would not allow this moment to become tainted by his mate's fear.

A surge of tingling pleasure rippled through him as Leonard's eyes squeezed shut, helpless moans tearing from his mouth as the rhythm of his body stuttered and became erratic. His mate was close, his mounting pleasure pouring through his skin and drenching the Vulcan beneath him. Spock's body was electrified, every cell striving for completion, and he held onto to his meager restraint with what little strength remained. He would allow Leonard's climax to trigger his own.

He did not wait long. A crashing, crushing, crescendoing wave of pleasure sent him arching off the bed, gasping helplessly into the body of his mate as warm streaks of seed decorated his stomach and the heat of Leonard's own release pulsed deep within his body. The doctor's feeble attempts at control faltered beneath the onslaught and a litany of profanity laden half-sentences poured from his mouth between panting breaths. Reaching up, Spock pulled Leonard towards him, pressing his tongue sharply between the doctor's willing lips. He held Leonard tight against him, reveling in the sensation of his mate's frantically beating heart.

They lay that way for ten point six minutes, the rhythm of their steadying breaths the only sound in the room. The cool air against his skin was unpleasant, but the warm body beside him staved off the worst of the chill. He was a Vulcan, after all, more than capable of ignoring discomfort when necessary, and Leonard naked in his arms was undoubtedly a necessity.

A sigh escaped his mate as he twisted his head to meet his gaze. "You're cold." He muttered.

"A bit. It is acceptable."

"Not to me. Don't you think I know how susceptible you are to hypothermia?" Pulling away, he crawled down the mattress to rescue the bed clothes, hanging in a clump off the foot of the bed. Sitting up, Spock took a moment to wipe himself clean and search out his thermal shirt.

"You want this?" Leonard asked, the shirt in his hand.

"It is necessary, unless you wish to allow me close proximity to your body throughout the night."

They stared at each other in the darkness, a wealth of emotions passing between them.

"This didn't make everything okay, you know."

"I am aware. However, I do view it as a positive development in our relationship."

Leonard stared at the bed, his head nodding slightly, his hands twisting the thermal material. "I guess I can help you stay warm for one night."

Almost despite himself, Spock smiled.

Humanoid.

It was one of the first words any modern physician learned upon entering medical school. It was a well studied, well debated, ever-evolving concept designed to reinforce the most basic component of modern medicine; that of subtle but vital physical differences; vitally different to adapt to vitally different ways of life. That was the reason the skin he was sprawled across was so hot to the touch, why the faint but steady beat of a heart reverberated against his stomach where he pressed into his lover's side.

Vulcan's were notoriously tight-lipped about themselves, a fact that had previously infuriated Leonard McCoy. He was no longer angry, though. Spock had become a veritable open book, allowing him almost unlimited access to his thoughts and complete disclosure of his physical and mental faculties. He was doing it, Len knew, as an act of atonement, but no matter. He was Spock's doctor as well as his damn _spouse,_ and he'd take the info anyway he could get it.

It had started as physical exploration. Well, no, not really. It had started as sex. With Spock. Frequently. And he wasn't damned sorry. There was still a whole mess of volatility and confusion between them but it burned hotter than the Georgia sun and he'd given up trying to resist it. He had a degree in psychology and he knew sex wasn't the way to solve a conflict but it had been a hell of good catalyst, and besides, he was a big fan of experimental treatment. Sex had led to physical exploration. Physical exploration had led to mental exploration and _that_ had led to some hard truth that had been damned helpful to both of them.

There was the proverbial morning after, which found them curled up tight in the middle of the huge master bed. There had been no words spoken, just lips on lips as Spock gently coaxed him onto his back, liberally lubing his morning erection and seating himself firmly, his eyes all wide and hopeful. Len had been helpless to do anything but thrash, thrust, and moan as the Vulcan rode him off to a mind-busting orgasm. It had been truly fantastic, but it wasn't until afterwards, curled up and cooling off again amidst the sheets, that they realized how post-coital lethargy affected their brains.

Apparently, it had the same chemical compound as truth serum.

"_When did you start to figure it out?"_

"_My suspicions were first raised during our briefing from Starfleet, when we were informed about the plague. When you tried to leave the room, I was nearly overcome by an inexplicable sense of betrayal. I instinctively wished to meld with my mate to ease my distress and could not understand why you were seeking to leave. It also caused me to seek you out repeatedly in sickbay. I believed this caused you a great deal of distress."_

"_Hell, yeah it did. I thought you were playing with me, telling me to keep my distance and then invading my space. And you were being so damned nice to me all the sudden."_

"_My proximity caused you pain, and I am sorry."_

"_Spock, your proximity actually made me feel better. I'm a doctor, I should've suspected something, too."_

"_With all respect, Doctor, who ever would have suspected such a thing?"_

There was, of course, the first time he'd willingly let Spock have him. The rigors of meditation were hard to master, but Spock was insistent, and if Jim could do it, then he'd be damned if he couldn't, too. Besides, it _was _soothing.

He'd taken to joining the Vulcan for his nightly sessions. Facing each other across Spock's ancient firepot, they would lose themselves in their quieted thoughts. Tonight, though, Spock's nearness was distracting the hell out of him. He kept stealing glances, relieved that the Vulcan's eyes had fallen shut. Great. Spock was probably in some deep state of meditation and he was screwing around. Slamming his own eyes shut, he tried to block out the tempting direction of his mind. His body felt hot inside his borrowed meditation robe and his palms were sweaty. He had to get this under control. He didn't know all the tenets of Surak but he was pretty sure it was never _written_ that meditation should make you want to jump your mate's bones.

He was just resolving to leave quietly before he became a distraction when he felt a hand cup his face. His eyes flew open to fix on Spock's, suddenly inches away. He hadn't even heard him steal across the room but he had no time to worry about that as Spock's tongue slid between his lips, bearing him back down to the thick carpet and working at the intricate clasps of his robe.

"_It is too late to avoid distractions, Doctor."_

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"_

"_Leonard, perhaps I was the one distracting you."_

He'd let it go then, lost in the sensations of the Vulcan's hands all over him, of the way Spock looked in the dancing firelight; primal and beautiful and how the hell had he never noticed that before. No, he'd known, he'd known Spock was beautiful, especially when his eyes were black and passionate, pinning Len with his stare as he carefully breached him with long, warm fingers and Len pushed back against the intrusion, wanting him deeper, wanting him so damn much.

They were supposed to hate each other, for God's sake. Instead they were gasping into each other's mouths, slicked skin sliding against each other, and Spock's arm was beneath his neck, cradling him close as he thrust into his body. It was gentle and fierce, harsh and soft, and his legs and arms were clinging and it was burning and beautiful and oh GOD…JESU…

"_Jim didn't tell you any of those things, did he? He didn't tell you about my family or my divorce."_

"_No, Jim has never betrayed your secrets to me, or to anyone else, I am sure. I read those memories in your mind. At the time, I did not realize what I was doing. However, such an action would be considered practically unforgiveable on Vulcan. It is yet another offense for which I owe you an apology, both for taking your thoughts and for making Jim appear untrustworthy."_

"_He did that on his own."_

"_He would agree, but he certainly did not need me to exacerbate the situation."_

Rain.

Bad day at the office.

The desk looked tempting.

Twenty-six thrusts, one for each failed series of tests.

Or so Spock said.

He'd lost count.

"_In light of the circumstances, I imagine you found the Dr. Settle's invitation to be most fortuitous."_

"_It was convenient. I'd been exploring other options anyway."_

"_To leave the ship? I had not received a transfer request."_

"_I kept it quiet. Didn't know how Jim would react."_

"_You truly would have left?"_

"_There wasn't much choice."_

"_I understand…"_

"_No, no, you really don't. You don't know what happened. I was working on some engineer in surgery about a week after our, whatever, our _altercation_ and it occurred to me that I didn't know what I'd do if I was called on to save your life. I was actually that angry and scared. I'd like to think I would've done my duty anyway, but in that moment I really didn't know. So, I had to leave. I'm a doctor, and I couldn't risk losing that, too. A starship can't have a compromised CMO any more than it can have a compromised captain."_

"_I believe I would have attempted to prevent the transfer. I would not have known why, though."_

"_Good God. Imagine the fireworks."_

He felt safe now, secure as he lay naked in bed, pillowed on the chest of the man who'd once threatened his life in his own sickbay. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Damn, but they'd been ignorant, or perhaps innocent. He didn't know. What he did know, with certainty, was that he could never be away from them, that he needed and wanted the damn Vulcan and always would. Their relationship was tentative and would take years to heal and build, but they were both in it with both feet and he wasn't walking away. Now there was just one puzzle piece left.

That puzzle piece was due home tomorrow.

Jim had been always on his mind during the past three weeks, his name constantly on their lips. To Len, Jim was the great unknown, the lover who had torn out his heart and had yet to make amends. He knew Jim professed to still love him, and the strength of their bond attested to that, but Len still couldn't help but feel unsure. Hell, he'd been fucking betrayed. Jim had chosen Spock over him once before, and for all the complications and overstepping and confusion, Len couldn't get past that one point. Despite all of Jim's assurances and actions to the contrary, a part of Len still wondered if Jim even wanted him there. Would he have preferred it to just be him and Spock?

He knew Spock sensed his fears, and he had to admit the Vulcan knew how to handle them. He'd wordlessly pulled Len to their bed, stripping him before painting his entire body with his lips and tongue, pinning him lightly, preventing him from doing anything but feeling. He'd made love to him roughly, fiercely, his hands everywhere at once and Len had lost his breath beneath the sensations. He'd felt vital and needed and it had soothed his mind, but Jim was still coming home and he needed to know.

Pulling away, he rolled onto his side and faced the wall. "Do you love him?"

Beside him, Spock grew still, but he could feel the wheels of contemplation humming across the bond.

"Leonard, you speak of love quite freely, but you must remember that it is an emotion, and like all other emotions, it is something my people attempt to control, even suppress. You asked me once if I feel love and the truth is that I do not know. You speak as if I should know automatically, but I have experienced many unfamiliar feelings since I first came into contact with the two of you. Prior to that, even, for I also felt them with my mother and again with Nyota."

Reaching over, Spock grasped Len's shoulder and rolled him over to face him. "The truth is that I am unsure of love. I do not necessarily know what I am supposed to be experiencing. However, I have accumulated a great deal of research on the topic and some of the requirements seem to fit. Do I love Jim? I know that, given the choice, I desire to be with him rather than away from him. I desire his safety. His personality, despite its tendency towards the illogical, brings me a sense of satisfaction. I find him pleasing to the eye and desire him sexually. Also, if it were within my power to take away his pain, even at my own expense, I would do so. I know all of these things to be true but in the face of my own ignorance, I defer to your better judgment. Do I love him?"

The Vulcan's stare was piercing, boring in to him, but he somehow managed to avert his eyes. "I'd say that you do."

For a moment, Spock was perfectly still beside him. He felt a firm tug, the heat of friction as skin slid against fabric and he was flat on his back, legs tangling in the bed sheets as Spock slipped an arm beneath him and gently cradled his face. The eyes were back, the ones that stole his breath and made him their prisoner, too enraptured to fight his way free. Leaning in, Spock held his gaze even as he pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "If your assessment is correct, Leonard," he whispered silkily, "then I must assume that I also love you."

The small shake of his head was instinctual and nearly unnoticeable, so reluctant was he to break eye contact. "Don't say that."

There it was again, the frustrated resignation that emanated from the Vulcan whenever he tried to take steps back. He knew Spock wouldn't push, still too caught up in his acts of contrition, but Len could practically feel his mate's very human need to seize him and make him see reason. Drawing back a little, Spock managed to break the hypnotic stare but continued to eye the human.

"You do not believe me?" His tone was genuinely confused, "You confirmed the evidence for yourself. If given the choice, I desire to be with you rather than away from you. I desire your safety. Your personality, while..."

"You _hate_ my personality. I drive you nuts."

Spock's expression was soft as he stroked Len's cheek. "You challenge me. I admit that I did not always appreciate it for what it was but I recognize it now."

Pushing at Spock's shoulders, Len rose up to sit as Spock slid back to rest on his heels in the middle of the bed. "Look, whatever this is, it isn't something we asked for. We're making it work but I don't want you to pretend."

The change would have been imperceptible to most, but Leonard could sense it immediately, could see the subtle tension in the shoulders and the tight set to the jaw. Though Spock might deny it, his attitude was starting to piss the Vulcan off.

"Leonard, I believe it is you who are pretending and while I may understand your reasons, I will not ignore it. You know what I say is true. You know that what I claim to feel for you I do, in fact, feel. You know this because I have allowed you full access to me. Therefore, knowing that I feel these things for you, knowing that they indicate love, you are fully aware that I do love you." Rolling to his knees, he stepped off the bed, staring down at the human who could no longer meet his gaze. "The truth, Leonard, is that you know these things to be true, but you do not want to admit them, because doing so would make it more difficult for you to sustain your anger. I understand this, and perhaps my past behavior precludes me from saying anything, but I must ask you, in light of our current circumstances, is holding on to your rage the healthiest course of action? The question is merely rhetorical, of course, as you already know the answer."

Staring hard at the bed, Len cursed under his breath, "Dammit, Spock, I don't know how to just let it go. It hurt too damned much. Humans aren't known for just getting over stuff, even in the face of logical evidence, because we recognize that our emotional responses are important, too. They make us who we are.

Look," he continued, "I do know that this isn't healthy, but sometimes the knowing just makes it worse. Maybe I just need my righteous indignation, but I _can't_ have it because I know without a doubt how damn sorry you are. See, doubt leaves the opportunity for choice. I have to decide whether or not I believe you and what I want to do about it. But I already know, so there's nothing to consider. I just have to take action, either forgive you or not. And human's just don't work that way. I don't know if we're cut out for all this honesty."

"I understand that," Spock replied, his voice still heavy and resigned. "but there is nothing else I can do to reassure you. At some point, you will have to decide whether or not you can risk trusting us again." Turning towards the shower, he paused. "You can, Leonard, You _can_ trust us. You just have to let yourself."

He sat in silence as the rush of the shower echoed from the bathroom. The water was on. Spock always used the sonics.

The invitation was clear. All he had to do was trust him, trust _himself_ enough to accept it. Hell, his instincts were good, too, weren't they? And damned if the Vulcan wasn't right. They couldn't keep returning to square zero. It wasn't logical and it sure as hell wasn't healthy. Taking a deep breath, he slid off the bed and headed towards the shower.

Spock's arms were braced against the wall, his eyes distant as the water sluiced over him. "It is Jim, correct. You still doubt Jim. What is it that you doubt?"

Len leaned against the back wall, his eyes fix on the ceiling to quell the hot, frustrated tears that welled in his eyes. "I doubt that he really wants me," he stated bluntly. "I think he's only going along with this because he wants you."

Spock spun on him. "Do you truly believe this, Leonard?"

"Yes…no…shit. I don't know, Spock. He swore he loved me and then I caught him with you. I caught him fucking you. And he wasn't even going to tell me."

With a nod of his head, Spock turned back towards the spray. "Leonard, Jim loves you. I believe you know this, but you have more than sufficient reason to doubt it, so I will do what I can to offer you assurance. He loves you. He loves you so much that when confronted with the possibility of changing the universe, he contemplated saying no. He loves you so much that he made me swear that we would do anything necessary to make you feel safe with us again. He loves you so much that he determined to give up his captaincy and retire to Earth permanently if it meant that he could win you back. I realize that this does not make things right between you, but I hope it can quell some of your fears. Jim loves you. Jim wants you. Jim is unwilling to be without you. That has always been the truth."

Len closed his eyes. "Spock, it doesn't make the pain go away. It doesn't change the humiliation of it. He broke something inside of me and all I want to do is hit him until he hurts as bad as I do."

"You claimed to want to hit me, but discovered you could not. I imagine that your interactions with Jim will be similar. Tell him how you feel, Leonard, and be blunt. You are quite capable of wielding your words like a weapon and I think you would find Jim to be most accepting of your fury. He was very clear, Leonard. He will do anything to win you back."

"And then what."

"And then we live. We heal. We make a plan for our future and follow it. Also, we file the necessary paperwork."

Despite himself, Len smiled. "Leave it to you to bring up paperwork." Taking two steps forward, he reached his arms around the other man's torso. The water poured over them, but not between them, as he pressed his chest fully against the warmer spine. "You scared me. You hurt me so damned bad."

"I know." Twisting carefully, he pulled them chest to chest, face to face, and wrapped his arms around Leonard's back. "I will never do so again.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: Paramount Still Owns Star Trek.**

**Chapter Eight**

The set-down was sloppy, hard and jolting as the landing gear connected with the ground. Jim grimaced, but bore the impact quietly. If there was one thing he had been reminded of during the past three weeks, it was that eyes were always on him, some admiring, and some just salivating over the prospect of his first royal fuck-up. In light of that fact, he kept his mouth shut, but his outward show of patience didn't stop idle thoughts from popping into his head. Spock would probably be citing the proper landing procedures verbatim from the shuttle's flight manual in a disdainful tone just slightly varnished with a tinge of respect. Bones, though, would be tearing the pilot a new asshole while furiously wiping the remains of his lunch off his shoes. Jim smiled.

_/"I might throw up on you."/_

_/"Don't be such an infant."/_

_/"I saw, Jim./_

The smile vanished. The sick, twisting knot that had plagued him non-stop for the past six months reared up in his stomach again as his brief, happy jaunt down memory lane was sucked back into his current harsh reality. Because yeah, he might've managed to beg and plead and convince Bones to let Spock finish the bond, but that didn't mean his doctor was any closer to forgiving him. And why should he, really? Jim sure hadn't done a damn thing to make himself seem worth it.

He'd been away for three whole weeks. Three weeks with just the two of them, without a buffer, or whatever he was. Hell, a hindrance, for all he knew, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that without him there to temper the situation, some kind of confrontation would have gone down in the penthouse. He'd been denied electronic communications while at the conference so, as far as he could tell, they'd killed each other and he'd stumble upon their corpses amidst the rubble of their apartment. Okay, so not really. He'd have felt _that_ over the bond, at least. Still, though…

Or maybe they'd be gone.

The knot in his stomach cramped as this now familiar thought raced to the surface again. Why not, right? Spock had been using his own shielding mechanisms to help teach Bones to cope with their bond even before Starfleet had sent him to the conference, and it had been wreaking havoc on Jim and Spock's own link. Pair that up with the physical distance and Jim had barely been able to sense them for weeks. They _could_ be gone, for all he knew, just vanished forever, leaving him to his own meager devices. He knew them both, after all, knew how inherently brilliant and moral and good they both were. It had probably taken Spock's subconscious less than thirty point two seconds to realize that Bones was so amazing that he just had to have him. Hell, why would they even need him. Bones and Spock had been fucking married, technically. He'd actually been the one to horn his way in on _them._

He picked up his bag and flung it over his shoulder, waving off his official escort and heading out across the campus. Class was in session as he strode across the grounds, much to his relief. He was _not_ in the mood to be gawked at or peppered with questions by the eager new recruits who recognized his now-famous face. He needed to walk, to think, and, above all, to plan. That, after all, had really been the root of his problem when Bones had first come back. He'd just been flailing about randomly, with absolutely no idea how to begin to make the amends to his justifiably livid mate.

Mate.

The word caused something warm to swell in his chest, fighting it out with the cold, clenching knot in his stomach. Yeah, Bones was his mate. He had actually lived up to dear old dad in one respect, managed to marry the love of his life, and look how even that had turned into a Grade-A Snafu. Hell, was there nothing in the universe he couldn't turn to shit?

Well, he wasn't just going to walk back in there and start flying by the seat of his pants again. His personal leadership style might involve a lot of improvisation but for something this high-stakes, he needed to think through his strategy and develop a plan of action. This wasn't a negotiation or a diplomatic rendezvous or even a damn rescue mission. This was Bones, and he just couldn't risk failure.

He'd been weighing his options for the past three weeks, systematically examining and rejecting different approaches. Humility had seemed like a good option, and Jim had briefly considered simply throwing himself prostrate on the floor at his doctor's feet and begging. He would've meant it, too, but ultimately that idea had fallen by the wayside. He'd already begged and pleaded his heart out just to get Bones to consent to the bonding, and while he was more than willing to do it again and again if that was what Bones needed, he had a feeling that penance wasn't really the problem. Bones knew him so he knew he was sorry. He would have known it even without the newly formed bond to give them access to each other's inner-most thoughts. No, he didn't have to convince Bones he was sorry. All he really needed to prove to the ultra-cantankerous love of his life was that he could still trust him.

And it would probably be easier to teach needlepoint to a Klingon.

Trust was fragile and nobody knew that better than Jim Kirk. His own sense of trust had been carefully guarded until Pike had shown up, his hand-me-no-bullshit-and-tell-me-no-lies brand of tough love propelling Jim out of his cocoon of careless delinquency. That had been the first step, but it had paled in comparison to his first encounter with Bones. Pissed as hell and rough around the edges, the lividly beautiful doctor had effortlessly stolen him away. Spock was right. They'd been bonded from the start, never-mind all these Vulcan mind links. What lay between them was deep and empathic, completely natural and well worth defending. And he would have, too, to the death, if necessary. From everyone, it seemed, except himself.

Bones' trust was an exceptionally precious gift, and how had he repaid it; with lies and fear and weak-willed excuses.

The firm click of his boots of the stone walkway provided a soothing cadence to his racing thoughts. He had also trusted Spock, both Spocks to be precise. He'd trusted the older one first, trusted that the relationships the ambassador had shown him were real and of worth. If he wanted to be completely honest, there were times when he was furious with the old guy for giving him those images in the first place. If the older Vulcan had just left well-enough alone, wouldn't they have found each other anyway? And then he would never have doubted his instincts, would never have believed he had to make some kind of choice, and the three of them would've come together on their own. His breath hitched slightly in frustration as he walked, quelling the slight wave of righteous indignation. Dammit, he wasn't just some thoughtless cheater! Nothing in the world would have made him mess up what he'd had with Bones, nothing except the absolute guarantee of some incredible love match that would change the world. Now, though, he knew the whole truth, and with that new-found security came the utmost confidence that nothing would ever pull him away from Bones again.

And that, of course, was the rub. How could he convince his doctor, his beautiful, hurt, understandably furious doctor that Jim Kirk really was worth the risk, because no matter what excuses he might offer up to himself in order to get to sleep at night, no justification in the world would clear away the facts. He'd cheated, plain and simple. If he wanted Bones' trust back, he'd have to earn it, and as the door to their apartment building loomed before him, he still had no idea how to start.

He took the stairs, praying the extra time would yield up some profound insight, but no grand master plan sprang to mind. He stood outside the door for several moments, using his own meager abilities to reach across the bond, searching them out through the walls. He felt nothing and he palmed open the door to an empty apartment. Scattered about, though, in a neat, orderly fashion, was incontrovertible evidence of their presence; some medical PADDS, Enterprise rosters, a snapshot of Joanna. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever they were, they weren't gone for good and that impractical but very real fear drained out of him. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the bedroom, tossing his bag to the side and heading for the shower.

The warm curtain of water was heavenly against his back, stiff and sore from days of sitting idly in a straight backed chair, but Jim could barely appreciate the relief. The floor, the tiles, the very air of the stall seemed to scream their presence. They'd been there, together. They'd touched and held and loved each other in that shower. Leaning back against the wall, he concentrated on the fleeting sensations, lapping up the tattered remnants of their presence. What to do, what to do? He should probably start by talking to Spock. When he'd left, they'd still been at an equal loss about Bones, but the Vulcan had to have some good insight now. All he had to do was find him. Closing his eyes, he reached out carefully across their bond, pressing gingerly at the blocked channel in frustration.

A sharp, sudden pull on his mind brought all of his planning to a screeching halt. He felt something, far away, but coming closer; the staccato of footsteps on a woolen rug, the smooth surface of keypads under steady and sure fingers, the swooshing breeze of a door sliding open to admit a body. The pull increased, and he snapped off the water, snatching up a towel and throwing it around his waist. The footsteps were coming closer, navigating the hallway with determined strides. He knew those steps, knew intimately the feet and legs that beat that even cadence into the rug. He'd touched them, kissed them, slipped between them in the dead of night. Shit, shit, shit. There would be no planning, no quick sit-down with Spock because Bones was walking down the hallway and he, Jim, was flinging open the bathroom door.

Their eyes met, gazing across the vast bedroom, open and vulnerable, and Jim nearly sighed.

Time for the reckoning.

They stared at each other for long moments, words unnecessary beneath the wave of emotions that ricocheted between them. Jim was half-staggered by the volume of feelings being flung his way, but even beneath the onslaught, he couldn't help but drink in the sight of Bones. He'd missed him so damned much, the kind of lonely ache that shredded a heart. And it wasn't recent, not for him. This had been going on for fucking months and he just didn't give a damn anymore. Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to say or promise or surrender, he would do it if it only meant that he could curl up around Bones at night and breathe his scent as he slept.

The look on his doctor's face seemed almost passive, but Jim could see the fire in Bones' eyes. Jim felt scorched beneath the probing glare but he fought to hold the gaze, refusing to look away. No, if this was some kind of damn test, he was going to show Bones he was serious.

"You look relieved." The trill of Bones voice broke through the silence as the doctor finally tore his gaze away, drifting idly to the dresser and toying with an abandoned comb. "Why?"

Jim shrugged heavily but answered with the truth. "I thought you might be gone."

Bones' eyes shot up again, his brow quirked in confusion. "_You_ thought _we'd_ be gone. Spock and me? Why? Where the hell would we go?"

The look Jim shot him was withering and desperate. "Why? Please Bones, don't bullshit me. I know I deserve it, but, just don't. Are you going to look at me and tell me that after three weeks together, you two haven't figured your shit out?" At Bones quickly averted gaze, Jim huffed and nodded his head. "Yeah, I thought so. In only three weeks, you two managed to pull yourselves together, right? _Right_," he demanded sharply.

Pushing off the dresser, Bones strode three paces to stare him down across the bed. "Yeah, Jim, we worked through some shit. We had some pretty damned mind-blowing sex, too. I mean phenomenal. Toe-curling. I damned near screamed myself hoarse from it. And you know what? I don't feel bad about it, not the littlest bit. So, is there something you want to say to me?"

The fire in Bones' eyes was blazing with fresh intensity as he glared at Jim in open challenge. A knot of panic lodged in Jim's throat as his own words played out in his head. What the hell was he doing? Anger? He was actually coming at Bones in anger when he should already be on his damn knees.

With a deep breath, Jim stepped forward slowly, his hands raised in surrender and his eyes on the ground. The damned towel at his waist was awkward but hell, it wasn't like he didn't deserve to feel vulnerable and exposed. It sure couldn't be worse than finding your lover in the arms of another man, right? Stopping several paces from Bones' tense frame, he looked up carefully.

"I'm sorry, okay. I don't have any right to give you an attitude. But dammit, Bones, I know you guys too well. Of course you fixed your shit and …"

Bones snorted, "Not all of it, Jim. Not by a long shot."

The look Jim shot him was pleading. "I know that. How could you. My point is that you tried. You made some progress, right? I know you did because that's just who you are. Neither one of you is exactly the type to just sit back and let things fester." Hell, this was too damn much. Three quick strides brought him to his dresser, and he yanked open the top drawer and retrieved a pair of boxers. Casting the towel to one side, he dragged on the underwear and wheeled back around, nearly missing the slight flare in Bones' eyes. The pressure in his chest was mace-like, cutting and choking, and he just couldn't stand it anymore.

"I love you," he bit out forcefully, "I do. I love you completely and totally. I always have, from the first damn minute I laid eyes on you and I always fucking will, whether you believe it or not, okay, even if you fight me on it forever. I know that I fucked up royally but dammit, Bones, you know me well enough to know that I didn't just run out on you because I was bored or horny or drunk. You know what the reason was. I'm not saying it was a good one, or that it makes it okay, because _nothing_ makes it okay, but it's a reason and we need to talk about it. We _need_ to talk about it."

Pausing to suck down a breath, Jim let his half-desperate gaze run over his doctor. Bones' face was practically fucking unreadable, but the lines of tension around his mouth were a dead damn give-away. Bones was livid, furious even, but that would have to be okay because if they didn't give him an outlet for his anger, Jim knew they'd never be able to start to heal. A little more, then. A little extra push.

"Will you let me talk, Bones? Will you let me try to explain?"

The fire and tension on Bones' face were starting to crack his façade, but his voice remained calm as he bit out a terse, "Fine, Jim. I'll listen, but I've heard most of it before. You already told me you love me. You already told me you're sorry, and let me just tell you, it didn't make me feel all better. So what knew tricks do you have up your sleeve now?"

Jim sighed. "I deserve that but I promise you that I don't have any tricks. All I have are bad explanations for bad choices." Turning away from Bones probing stare, he leaned heavily against the dresser. "Look, there's nothing I can offer you that will make this all better. You know that. I can sit here and tell you I'm sorry until I choke on the words, which might just be what I deserve, but that wouldn't help the situation we're in. If we're going to get better, then I need to be able to _show_ you I'm sorry, not just tell you, but I can't do that until you start letting me get close again. And you won't do _that_ until I can give you the slightest reason to trust me, just a little bit. We need that, Bones. We need that tiny cornerstone to build on. So, can I talk to you, please? Can I lay down that damned stone?"

Bones wanted to say no. Jim knew all his tells and every instinct he possessed was screaming that Bones was going to run. His own self-control was hanging by a tenuous string as he turned and watched the hazel eyes screw up in concentrated indecision. He wanted to move forward, to take some kind of action, to grab onto to Bones and shake him and beg him to see reason. Instead, he clawed at the lip of the dresser, leaning back against his own hands and pinning himself into immobility. And he waited.

He felt the tendrils first, curling around the edge of his mind with dedication and care, exploring the channel of the bond. It was soothing and shocking at the same time and he instinctually reached out, calling for Spock. Had he come home? Was he trying to pass on some kind of vital information? No, it couldn't be that. The flavor, the essence, wasn't Spock, but was familiar and comforting nonetheless. Clarity suddenly fractured as his eyes shot up just in time to hear the faint, whispered, hesitant voice in his mind.

"_Jim?"_

His pupils blew wide and his whole body jolted with the electrical sensation of feeling Bones inside him. Their eyes locked, fear and insecurity fighting it out with a rampant, desperate need to heal and feel whole again. He couldn't pull away, wouldn't even if he could, and his own mind pushed out on its own accord, the scattered tendrils of his own psyche reaching and grasping for Bones. It was faint and taxing to maintain, but the sensation was real.

"How the hell are you doing this?" he panted.

Bones' brow quirked a bit, though his expression remained strained. "Spock's been teaching me all the stuff he taught you."

"Okay, but I can't do this. I can't actually open the bond up on my own. He always did that."

Bones shrugged, his expression challenging. "You can. Not like he can but we just need to be able to open it enough to feel each other." Jim's expression turned doubtful and Bones sighed. "You know, we used to do this without even knowing it, without even having a formal link in our heads. Are you saying we've lost that?"

Bones eyes looked pained and a bolt of furious determination went off inside of Jim. Hell, no, they hadn't lost that. They couldn't. They needed it too damned much. He pushed out harder, shoving against the wall in his mind. The edges seemed soft, permeable, and he found himself pressing through, feeling Bones just on the other side. It felt like a curtain, a thin, flexible barrier that allowed muted sensation to leak through but prevented physical touch, and they pressed together through it, running up and down the encroaching material, clawing and searching for a rent. Their eyes burned into each other's, their faces drawn in concentration, and suddenly there it was, a miniscule tear in the clothe, just big enough to allow the barest fragments of their connection. He pushed hard, reaching through and grasping, wispy fingertips intertwining, and suddenly he was inundated with emotion, with fear and longing and bitter pain. Panic threatened, but he beat it back, for while the emotional onslaught was painful as hell, it was also beautifully familiar. He knew this connection, had felt it spark for the first time on a shuttle out of Iowa, and he would have endured anything to keep it now that he had it back.

Staring into the hazel eyes across the room, he couldn't help but give a little smile. "I'm pretty impressed here."

Bones blinked. "Yeah, well, don't be. This is just how we work now. Get used to it." He dropped his eyes, but Jim could see the faintest trace of satisfaction that glimmered on their surface. "Alright, Jim. You want to talk to me. Go for it."

Jim nodded. "Okay, first of all, you're right. You do know most of this. You know I met up with the ambassador on Delta Vega and that he melded with me and dropped the whole Nero story on me, right. You know that he talked to Spock and told him all about our relationship from his time and stuff. Well, there was one thing I never really got to explain. When I let the ambassador meld with me, he'd just watched Nero destroy Vulcan. He was, by his own declaration, emotionally compromised, and he leaked a ton of stuff into my head that he probably didn't intend. Some of it kind of stayed behind."

Bones face looked churlish. "Stayed _behind._ You're telling me he left memories in your head?"

Jim sighed. "No, not whole memories or anything. Just sensations, feelings, I guess, but nothing concrete. It was just…"

"Residue?"

Jim stared at him. "Yeah, okay, residue. Yeah, just like the ambassador…" His voice faltered as he made the connection. "Oh."

Bones glowered, shaking his head in anger, "Yeah, exactly. He left _residue_ in your head, Jim. Christ! The old guy leaves stuff in your head, Spock leaves stuff in mine, his older, evil twin left stuff in my older self's head. What's wrong with these guys? They think they can just leave their shit everywhere!"

"Hell, Bones, he didn't do it on purpose!"

"_None_ of them did it on purpose, but they still did it." Jim felt a stab of fierce protectiveness wash over him and he wallowed in it unabashedly as Bones stared at him with a suddenly clinical eye. "Are you okay? Give me an honest answer, please. Whatever it was, did Spock fix it?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, he fixed it. And I don't want you to think I'm shifting blame here, because he took care of it the first time we ever melded, long before anything happened…"

"Long before you fucked him?"

Jim grimaced. "Yeah."

Bones nodded slowly, his eyes distant. "Okay, so you obviously mentioned it for some reason. Spill."

Jim shut his eyes. "Look, I just want you to understand that I didn't just hear about this incredible relationship I was supposed to have with Spock. For awhile there, I actually felt it, actually experienced the depth of that connection. It wasn't my connection and I know that, but I felt what he and I could be and it was really incredible. He told us we would accomplish amazing things together, and that was exciting, but the main draw was that feeling. I realized that I had been madly in love with this man in a different universe, not because I was told about it but because I fucking _felt_ it, and it felt amazing.

But, see, all I did was feel. I just let myself sink into it and lap it up. If I'd actually taken some time to think about it, I'd have realized that it also felt amazingly fucking familiar because whatever it was that the ambassador left in my head, it wasn't about me and Spock. It was about me and Spock and _you_. I didn't know it consciously but I still knew it and did nothing. There were a million things I could've done and I didn't do any of them. I just kept ignoring the situation because I couldn't deal with the possibility of losing one of you, but even then I never actually tried to talk to either of you about it.

So, when it comes right down to it, this is all my fault. It is absolutely all my fault. I don't deny it and I'm sorry. I am so fucking sorry it hurts. But that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the past or the present. The only thing that can be changed is the future, and I guess that's up to you, Bones. Can you forgive me? Is it even possible?"

Bones voice was heavy with calm dejection as he broke eye contact and paced towards the window. "Hell, Jim. I caught you _fucking_ him. And then you were going to crawl into bed with _me_ without saying a fucking _word_. What possible excuse can you offer me for _that_?"

The powerful force of raging emotion tore out of him, ricocheting off the walls and stopping Bones dead in his tracks. "Because I fucking _needed _you, okay. Yes, I did every damn thing you are accusing me of, and yes, there is _no_ fucking excuse in the world that will ever, _ever_, justify it, but the simple truth of it is that I needed you, okay. I _needed _you. After I kissed him, after I fucked him, after I melded with him, even, it wasn't enough. I _still_ needed you. I will always need you. And I need him and from what I can see, the two of you seem to need each other." He paused for a moment to catch his spent breath, sinking slowly to the ground beneath the weight of his own words. The urge to avoid Bones' piercing stare was strong but he wouldn't, would _not_, allow cowardice to govern his actions again. Forcing himself to meet Bones' eyes, he said simply. "Everything the old guy told me is true, Bones. You _know _it is. I need him and he needs me and I need you and he needs you and you need him so there's only one question left. Do _you_ need _me_?"

The weight of Bones' eyes on him was suffocating but he forced his gaze to stay steady. "Honestly, Bones, I don't think you do. You're stronger than me. You would've eventually healed from this and moved on. But now you're stuck with a bond you didn't ask for and didn't want and it's all my damn fault."

The agonizing knot in his stomach finally burst, sending waves of nausea coursing through his body. "Shit, Bones, you don't even know. You don't even really know what I cost us. What they had together, Spock, me, you, in the future. It was fucking incredible. They saved worlds, ended wars, cured diseases, and all because it was the three of them. I mean, they were doing this even before they were officially together. So, that's what I broke, Bones. That's what I stole from us with my cowardice and stupidity. Because I knew, dammit. I fucking _knew_ we were all supposed to be together. I knew and I did nothing, just pretended everything was going to be okay, pretended I wasn't doing anything wrong."

Jim Kirk didn't cry. He didn't fucking cry, but the tears coursing down his cheeks just mocked him and called him a liar. "So I guess I answered my own question. You shouldn't need me. You shouldn't need anyone who could take something so precious and just mangle it all to shit. God, I fucked up, Bones. I fucked up so bad and why the hell did it have to be this, huh? Why the hell did the first thing I really truly screwed up have to be you?"

"Jim?"

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up."

His tirade was cut off by the harsh tone of Bones' voice, but as his eyes blinked away their thick curtain of tears, he saw the faintest whisper of amusement flicker across Bones' own stare.

"Just shut up, already. God, how long have you had this loop of bullshit running through your damn head?"

"I don't know. Six, eight months. As long as I've had a reason to feel like a piece of shit."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you shit, Jim?"

He glared. He couldn't help it. "Yeah."

"No. No, you're not. People have been trying to tell you that you are your whole life, but you're not. What is it that you're thinking here? You think it's going to make me feel better if I'm the one who finally breaks you? Let me tell you something, kid. I'm a damn doctor, okay. We don't break things. We're the ones who put them back together."

Jim stared up dazedly at the suddenly calm, inscrutable expression of his doctor, leaning tiredly against the footboard. Bones looked haggard and in need of a nap, but the fire-breathing rage of only moments ago had disappeared without a trace. Pulling himself back to his feet, he perched awkwardly on the dresser. "Why are you suddenly so calm?"

"Maybe you made me feel better."

"Oh, bullshit…"

"No, go with horseshit. It smells worse. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

Jim's gaze turned incredulous. "What, you're making jokes now?"

"You'd rather I knock your head off."

Jim blinked. "Yes," he said honestly, "At least I'd know where I stand with that. This scares the hell out of me. What are you thinking?"

Bones' face betrayed nothing. "I don't know, Jim. What should I be thinking?"

Jim snorted, "Well, let's see. That I'm an ass, that I deserve a horsewhipping, that you're better off without me. Any of those things sound pretty valid."

Bones shook his head, his gaze even and firm. "Actually, I'm thinking that I'm going to forgive you."

If he had to be honest, the first sensation that hit him in the aftermath of that little bomb was the soaring feeling of sweet relief. Forgive. God, how he'd needed to hear that word from Bones' mouth. The sound of it was balm to his frayed psyche. "Bones, what the hell are you talking about. It can't be that easy." The doctor made a move to say something, but Jim just cut him off. "No, okay, no, you don't just forgive me for something like this. I don't fucking deserve it, okay. I know you. You're strong and you don't give in. You fight like hell for everything and you'd fight like hell for this. I might need you but you _don't_ need me. You're strong enough without me."

Bones nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I am strong enough. So are you. But we're stronger together. He's right, you know, the ambassador. We do complement each other. And I think you two will do a hell of a lot together, but if there's one thing I know I can do, its hold you two accountable. We could accomplish so much."

"But it's not fair. You don't want it. You shouldn't have to…"

"Jim?"

"What?"

"I do want it."

"Really." Jim could hear the hope in his own voice. Bones shot him an ugly look but the hazel eyes were softening.

"Yes, Jim, really, and don't look at me like that. You know it's true. I want you and I need you. You brought me back from the edge and I don't know who else could've done that, which should help you understand what the hell you did to me when you took it all away."

Jim nodded. "I do get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," he replied vehemently, "Yeah, I do, and I'll never fucking do it again."

Bones nodded. "And how do I know that?"

"Because you know _me_," he bit out, "You fucking know me. I fucked up badly but I will do what I always do and learn from my dumbass mistakes, okay. I've learned to trust my instincts. I've learned that I need you and that I will never, ever risk losing you again. I've learned that I would be willing to do anything to make it up to you."

"Really?"

Jim glared. "Yes, Bones, really."

The doctor's molten fury was completely gone, replaced by a look of contemplation and a calm, almost playful voice as he asked, "So, what exactly would you be willing to do?"

Jim's eyes were tired and red-rimmed as he stared. "What am I willing to do? Anything, okay. I will do anything. If you want me to beg, I will. If you want me to give up the ship, I will."

Bones snorted, "Can't have that. You _do_ have worlds to save, you know."

Jim's mouth tightened. "You think those worlds really need _my _help?" he muttered.

Bones' head jerked up, the tinge of amusement fading from his face. "Yeah, kid. Yeah, I do. Unless, of course, the old guy was lying to you, in which case we have bigger problems, since this whole damned situation is based on the presumption that he's telling the truth. Is he lying, Jim?"

"No," he said tiredly, "No, he's not."

"No, he's _not. _He's not lying. He's telling you the goddamned truth. I know it because I know you. You _will_ change the universe, you _will _make a huge difference, you and the bloody hobgoblin, and if you think I'm going to get in the way of that for my own personal needs then _you're_ the one who doesn't know me."

Turning away sharply, Bones strode towards the window, leaning a hand heavily on the glass as he continued. "I get it, okay. You need me to give you some step-by-step game plan to obtain absolution. You'd do anything, too, you really would, because you don't believe in no-win situations and that includes winning me back.

I know you're a man of action and for you that means actually doing something, but what am I supposed to ask you to do? Let me hurt you, get my revenge, collect my pound of flesh? That might make you feel better, but what about me? Do you think that's going to help me?"

He turned around slowly, his eyes sad but resolved as he met Jim's gaze. "I can forgive you, Jim. It'll take me time but I _can_ forgive you. The question is whether or not you can forgive yourself, because I'm not going to give you anything. Not some heroic quest or some gallant opportunity for self-sacrifice or even a laundry list of stupid stunts for you to check off. You're going to have to find a way to let go of everything you did to me on your own because I already gave enough and I'm not going to become someone I'm not. I don't need revenge, even if you need me to take it. So you deal with this. You find a way to simply let it go. I know how hard that'll be for you and as far as I can see, that's punishment enough.

You're right, you know, "he continued, his hazel eyes scanning Jim's incredulous face. "About everything. You do need him and he does need you and you sure as hell need me and for some god damned reason I need you, too. It would've ended up like this anyway. You should have trusted yourself, Jim, and us. I would've flipped out, screamed and yelled and stopped speaking to you for days or weeks and Spock would've logically argued points with you until you were ready to smack him, but the seed would've been planted in our heads. He and I have been inside each other in every way possible by now. We know each other, really know each other, and there's no way we wouldn't have eventually given in to it. Our own damn scientific curiosity would've gotten the better of us, if nothing else.

But you're right about something else, too," he said as he pushed away from the window and strode towards the dresser. "All the would'ves and should'ves don't matter anymore. It's not like we can fix them."

Jim felt his heart leap as Bones strode towards him, his face set in determination as he came to a halt in front of him. His hands literally itched to reach out and touch but he forced them to stay glued to the dresser as Bones met his gaze. "Listen, Jim, what happens from here on out is totally in our hands. No one's interfering anymore and all the cards are on the table. It's on us now, to mess it up or make it work."

Warm hands, firm and confident, suddenly planed up his chest, skimming over his shoulders and working at the tension in the back of his neck. His breath caught at the touch he'd feared he never feel again, and unwanted tears began to pool in his eyes as Bones pressed their foreheads together and said, "And just so you know, Kid, I love you enough to fight like hell for it."

Whatever meager control he'd been exerting to keep his hands to himself snapped completely beneath the meaningful weight of those words. His arms lashed out, flinging themselves around Bones' back, clutching the doctor in an unbreakable clamp. He grappled and clung, unable to hold Bones tight enough as he burrowed into the crook of his neck, pressing light kisses and whispering his love against the familiar skin.

And he cried…and cried, until his eyes and throat burned and his arms trembled with the exertion of keeping Bones close. His legs were jelly as his doctor slowly pulled him forward to topple them down on the bed, but his arms still fought instinctively to hold him tight.

"Jim, you're exhausted. You need to get some sleep."

Bones eyes were soft with concern above him and he nodded despite himself. "I will, okay, I promise, but please just stay with me. Please don't leave."

His voice sounded desperate and pleading but he couldn't even start to care as Bones kicked off his shoes and pants and quickly slipped them both between the blankets, resting their heads on one pillow. Arms held and lips sought and a voice echoed quietly, gently, through his mind.

"_Sleep, Jim."_

And he did.

The room was dark, barely illuminated by the city lights trickling through the window, when he awoke suddenly. His body was still exhausted, his mind still thick with sleep, but he had sensed something and it had jarred him momentarily awake. He felt the presence across the bond a moment before the mattress dipped and a warm, solid form spooned up behind and pressed a kiss to his throat. He felt strong arms envelope him, slipping beneath his shoulder to hold him close, fingers skimming down his body to tangle intimately with Bones' hand. He smiled as the block on the bond dissolved and the voice he'd missed filled his mind.

"_Based on your current proximity, I am assuming it is now acceptable to open the bond."_

He nodded, _"Yeah, we're good. Well, not good, really, but we're okay."_

"_You will be able to forgive yourself?"_

"_I'm going to give it everything I have. Wait, how did you…"_

"_Know that Leonard would ask this? What else could he ask? He is a healer, Jim, and I told you even while still on the ship that he would not demand anything punitive from you. He knows you well enough to determine that this would be the most appropriate of punishments. Do you disagree?"_

Jim grimaced. _"No, it's pretty damn near perfect." _Twisting his head around, he caught the Vulcan's eye, "_Are you two really going to be okay."_

Spock looked away, "_Doctor, Jim has concerns."_

He let his body go limp as he was rolled on his back. The two forms flanking his body pushed up on an elbow, looking down at him with matching hints of amusement in their eyes. He stared up eagerly, watching the two of them side by side, so different, so beautiful, so perfect together. Spock shifted, a hand flicking out quickly to cup Bones' face and their lips were together, teasing and gentle and loving as they explored each other's mouths. Jim's breath caught and a jolt rushed through his body as he drank in the single sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Breaking away with trace reluctance, they burrowed down on either side of him, lips and hands pressing and seeking against his skin.

"_Feel better now, Kid?"_

He smiled, "_Hell, yeah."_

"_I desire this to work, Jim, as does Leonard. Do you?"_

"_C'mon, Spock. You know I do."_

"_Then that is what shall be."_

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I might have promised that Tor would make a reappearance in this chapter and I apologize, but apparently angsty, relationship defining talks take a lot of time (and words). However, he will come roaring back in the next chapter, roaring back with a vengeance!**


	10. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Nine chapters down and Paramount STILL owns Star Trek.**

**Chapter Nine:**

_His hands slipped, struggling for purchase on the slippery material, and why the hell did the damn hobgoblin have such an affinity for silk sheets anyway. There was no resistance, no damn friction to work with and he was slipping and sliding back into Jim, pressing into his body and falling into his mind. Hands and arms and lips were all over him, seeking and questing as fiery tongues of pleasure lapped up and down the open length of the bond. He could feel everything, everything; the slide of silk beneath Jim's back, the painfully delicious stretch of Jim's body around him. He felt the hot pant of Spock's breath against his nape, each piercing thrust that the Vulcan drove into him, pressing him deeper and further into Jim beneath him, and an errant sliver of practicality managed to puncture his electrically lust-fueled mind. Spock clearly had this. Why not just enjoy the damn ride?_

_A sense of triumph flickered across the bond and a rich, amused voice filled his mind. "Indeed, Leonard. I do, in fact 'have this', as you say, and would be most gratified if you would enjoy it."_

_Suddenly he was empty. Spock was gone, but no, hot hands were pulling him up to kneel awkwardly between Jim's thighs. Beneath them, Jim's eyes flew open and he pushed up on his elbows, his face taking on an expression of gleeful intrigue as he glanced at the Vulcan behind Len's shoulder. A thrill of anticipation shot across the bond as Spock leaned over Jim's prone form, flipping open the cap of a bottle of aromatic oil and pouring it liberally across the rose gold planes of Jim's skin. Tossing the capped bottle aside, Spock descended with his hands, rubbing and spreading and drenching Jim everywhere in the heady liquid as Len stared in rapt attention. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't tear his eyes away from the enticing picture before him as Jim collapsed back against the sheets, a wicked smile decorating his lips. The smile made Len hungry, but before he could move, strong, hot, dripping hands were moving across him, spreading the fragrant liquid, painting his throat, his chest, his stomach, the intimate crevices of his groin. _

_He let himself fall back against Spock's chest, let warm hands coat him, his curiosity at the forefront because whatever crazy stunt the crazy Vulcan had in mind, he wasn't giving it away over the bond. Jim stared up at them, and Len could feel his arousal at the sight of Spock's hands all over his doctor, but he barely had time to enjoy the appreciation before Spock was lowering him back down._

_He laid them flush together, inch by inch of skin pressing with nothing but a thin layer of oil between them. Electric sparks seemed to jump off their flesh with each subtle shift of their bodies. Len's could feel the tandem pounding of their hearts against each other's ribs and a groan caught in his throat as Spock worked a hand over his shaft from length to tip, stroking him to full arousal and guiding him to Jim's waiting entrance. His eyes locked on crystal blue, breath hitching in frantic gasps, as the Vulcan's warm voice drifted across the bond. "Relax your bodies. Allow me to pleasure you."_

_They didn't relax, they melted, turning into sticky sweet placidity against each other's chests. He felt Spock's hand caressing and cupping his ass, exerting steady, tensing pressure and suddenly he was sliding over Jim, sliding into Jim, the weight of his body sending shock waves of sensation coursing through both their extremities. Beneath him, Jim was panting, his head whipping back and forth as he fought the urge to cling and pull and meet the invading thrust. Jim's utter pliancy gave Len unprecedented access and Spock was relentless, seating him further and further. _

_It was hot and tight and oh God DAMN perfect and Spock had stopped pushing him forward, content now to simply hold him balls-deep in Jim's body. For his own part, Jim had thrown restraint and inhibition to the wind, and a litany of gasps, moans, and filthy endearments was pouring from his mouth and washing mindlessly over the bond. His arms sprawled above his head, tangling with Len's own boneless limbs in the soft sheets._

_They were Spock's, willing and malleable in the face of whatever illogical plan the Vulcan was hatching in that inventive mind of his. All Len knew was that his body was hovering on the brink of cataclysm, poised to fall over the edge. He pressed a damp forehead to Jim's, their eyes alight with matching anticipation as Spock rocked them lightly against each other, the slick silk of oiled skin gliding with delicious friction. He watched Jim's eyes screw tight as the Vulcan's careful ministrations stroked him in and out of Jim's body, the depth of his penetration increasing with each forward thrust. The movements were tortuously subtle, perfectly designed to ignite the body but stave off ultimate release, and Len was beginning to wonder if this was Spock's game when a healthy dose of the warmed oil drizzled across his ass and lower back. Long fingers worked the liquid over and into his body, probing him deeply, making him slick and ready and desperate. _

_His heart might have stuttered when he first felt Spock breach him, might have literally skipped a beat or two. His breath seized and his vision blurred as Spock pushed relentlessly forward, stretching him and claiming him fully. The Vulcan had one firm hand on his hip, another gently but immovably on the nape of his neck, driving deep, deep inside Len's unresisting body_

_He managed to gather his meager strength and braced himself on his elbows, bearing just enough weight to make the delicate shift of their bodies against each other easy and fluid. Out Spock would slide, withdrawing nearly all the way, dragging him back across Jim's chest until nothing but the sensitized heads of their erections were still nestled in the bodies beneath them. Then forward, hard and steady and unyielding, filling him inch by inch, driving him back, hilt deep, into Jim. Flush together Spock held them, every inch of their skin on fire for each other, the thin film of oil turning to liquid flame as Spock rasped them against each other. _

_It was torture, in the most perfect sense, and Len drank it up eagerly. His mind was utterly blank, concerned with nothing but the fierce sensations running across their bond. Spock was drawing this out, holding them on the brink, the stimulation enough to drive them crazy with need but not release. His mouth was too busy panting to form words but helpless, pleading whimpers echoed from both his and Jim's throats. Behind him, he could practically feel Spock's smile. _

"_Jim, Leonard. What do you wish?"_

"_Faster."_

"_Harder."_

"_So be it."_

_The first real thrust nearly killed him, nearly shorted out his brain with an overdose of pure pleasure. The hot hands stayed firm on his hips as Spock pistoned into him, each thrust going deeper, driving him deeper into Jim. The weighty slap of Spock's sac against his ass, the glove-like clutch of Jim's body around his throbbing dick, the hard press of Jim's own needy erection against his stomach all blended and ran together. Separate thoughts became impossible, became blurred and runny around the edges. There was just Spock riding them mercilessly and Jim beneath him, arching off the bed, his nails scouring Len's shoulders and his mouth begging and begging for more. Len's brain was just gone. He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't hear. All he could do was feel, feel everything, feel Spock cupping his chin, feel the rough Vulcan tongue on the column of his throat, feel Spock's fingers as they slipped into Jim's mouth to be laved and caressed as a growl ripped from the Vulcan's chest and oh dammit he rode them even harder and… oh FUCK, he was going to come and it was going to fucking kill him but he didn't care because he'd die happy and…_

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…

_Aw, fucking Hell._

The computer console across his office roared to life as data charts began uploading on the screen. Len blinked rapidly, his temporarily displaced brain taking in the neat, organized confines of the room around him. No silk-lined beds or lust addled spouses here, just data PADDS and deadly diseases. Dammit, he'd drifted off again and the memories of the prior night had come tumbling to the forefront of his mind. Unless it was Jim again, accidentally projecting his own X-rated daydreams onto him. With a shake of his head, Len quickly discounted that theory. Jim just wouldn't do that, not with the handle-with-care attitude the kid had adopted towards him lately.

He understood it, really, he did, and it wasn't like he didn't appreciate Jim's efforts. Len had been clear that Jim needed to find his own path to redemption, and James T. Kirk was universe-renowned for jumping into any challenge with both feet. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised that Jim's personally paved road to contrition would involve abstinence of some sort. After all, as far as Jim was concerned, his over-enthusiastic sexual appetite had been a catalyst for all their trouble.

The two of them had awoken that morning in a sated, lethargic, sticky heap in the middle of their bed, sprawled all over each other in some absurd human Gordian knot. Spock was nowhere to be seen, but the subtle, soothing sensations of meditation hovered at the edge of the bond. Len had smirked and attempted to unwind their heavy limbs. Leave it to the damn hobgoblin to debauch them into delirium and then go grab a shower.

A shower. Yes, they'd needed a shower and they'd somehow managed to drag, trip, and stumble their way into the stall on legs made of jelly, the hot water finally coaxing them back to a state of actual consciousness. He'd drunk in Jim's warm smile as the kid pulled him under the spray, working over his body with soap and flannel. Jim's touch had been warm, gentle, and generous, but when he'd reached out to reciprocate, the damn kid had proved remarkably elusive, distracting him with banter and kisses before ducking beneath the water and dashing out of the room.

Sighing aloud, Len stared blankly in the direction of his computer screen, his mind wandering as he waited for the results. This was becoming the new standard in their relationship; Jim's stubborn refusal to allow Len to give him anything in return. Leaning back in his chair, Len allowed himself a frustrated groan. Hell, was there anyone else in the known universe more skilled than he at digging himself into a hole? He was the one who _told_ Jim to find a way to forgive himself. So what if he didn't like the plan. So what if he needed to touch the kid like he needed to breathe. Jim had to find a way to get over it, and he was just going to have to live with the process, even if it was driving him insane.

At his desk, Len pressed a finger to each temple with a frustrated grimace. Holy _hell_, why hadn't he just sent the kid on a fucking scavenger hunt and called it even?

Across the office, the computer continued to tabulate, the results of his most recent series of tests carefully compiling into the database. Shaking his head a bit, Len forced his mind away from his tricky relationship and back to the subject at hand.

It had been an interesting month at the lab, but interesting was a dubious word. His mental acuity was finally back to full capacity and his instincts were still pulling him in one specific direction, but he found himself fighting an uphill battle every day. The months he had spent coping with the unresolved bond had damaged his credibility with the rest of the team. Maybe. In all honesty, he wasn't really sure where he stood with them. They spoke respectfully and listened as he voiced his thoughts and ideas, only to turn around and go along with _every_ fucking thing the damn Betazoid told them like a bunch of brain dead sheep.

Stalking over to the window, Len sipped his coffee and seethed. His feelings about Dr. Jovanni Tor were complicated and confusing. Sure, Jim and Spock couldn't stand the man on principle, but Len still wasn't sure how much of that might be bias against the guy who tried to seduce their bondmate. Tor was professional to him, maintaining a respectful distance that Len appreciated, but for reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, the man still pissed him off. The members of the team deferred to him, accepted his word as if it were gospel, and for the life of him, Len couldn't understand why. Tor's research direction seemed sound, sensible, but some deeply rooted gut feeling just told Len it was wrong, and he couldn't believe that among a group of such highly accomplished minds, there were no other dissenters.

Another beep chirped from the computer as the compilation screeched to a halt. Picking up his PADD, Len began to scan the results.

And his stomach began to sink.

It was the door that alerted him, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps pacing quickly through the apartment. It was impossible to tell which one at this distance; their height and the gait of their stride too similar to differentiate in his half-drunken stupor. Of course, it would be easy to determine if he wanted. All he'd have to do was let up on the rock-solid block he slammed down on the bond when he'd exited his office and he'd know immediately which one of them was scurrying around the penthouse, searching him out. He wasn't ready to do that yet, though. Why should they have to suffer; he was the fuck-up, after all, not them.

There was pressure in his head, some from the bourbon, no doubt, but also from an outside source, a hand knocking gently at the door he's slammed shut. Spock. Had to be. It was gentle and entreating and Jim just didn't have that velvet touch yet. Was Spock the one thundering through the apartment? No, definitely not. It was definitely Jim's voice that split through his head.

"Bones!"

It was impossible to miss the hint of accusation that laced Jim's words as he strode into the study and plunked himself down on the window seat across from Len's prone form, his face alight with furious disbelief. The blue eyes ran over him, taking in his rumpled, miserable appearance and the half-empty bottle nestled in the chair beside him. Len shut his eyes against the assessment and felt the gentle pressure in his head retreat away from the block. _Great_. Jim had told Spock he'd found him, no doubt, which probably meant the pointy-eared bastard was en route, chock full of logical reasons for why Len wasn't a failure. More shit he didn't want to hear.

Cracking an eye, he met Jim's gaze and watched as concern and frustration fought it out in the deep, deep blue. It was kinda pretty, actually, but the expression Jim was making wasn't as he shook his head.

"What the hell, Bones. You can't just block us out like that. It isn't fair." Jumping to his feet, Jim seized him by the shoulders and leaned over him. "You scared the shit out of us. Dammit, you had to know we'd flip out. You only just got better." Pulling away, he leaned heavily against the window, his shoulders stiff with anger. "You know, I'd love to see how you'd react if either one of us pulled some shit like this. You wouldn't stop bitching for a month. You can't do this, okay. You need time in your own head, fine, but you have to give us some kind of warning. _Jesus_, Bones."

The bottle hit the rug with a dull plunk as he jumped unsteadily to his feet. The damn kid's yelling was hurting his head but the bubbling eruption of righteous indignation that ripped through him numbed him to the pain. "I don't have to give you shit," he raged, his face red and his voice spewing disdain, "I don't have to do one goddamned thing. It's my mind and if I wanna boot your ass out of it, then dammit, I will. Man's got a right to his own thoughts, no matter what you or the hobgoblin might think. You don't like it, well then, stay out of my head forever, and you'll never know the damn difference. I never wanted you there in the first place."

He teetered unevenly and felt Jim's arm catch his waist, holding him close as he lowered him, carefully, back down to the wingchair. He pushed futilely against the strong shoulders but Jim didn't move away, sliding into the chair beside him and holding him close. His head was swimming and he could feel the gentle push again as Spock's renewed presence stroked gently over the extremities of his mind. Turning his head into Jim's shoulder, he nestled his head in and fought his own tears.

"I've got you, Bones," Jim's voice whispered against his temple. "I'm right here. Look, you'd never just do something like this. I know that and that's why I freaked out. Tell me what happened, Bones. Please, so I can help."

The voice and arms were soft and soothing and he pressed closer, soaking up the much-needed comfort as Jim stroked gentle fingers through his hair. "There's nothing you can help with, Jim. Unless, of course, you want to help me tell Spock that his entire race is going to die."

The arms around him tensed. "Bones, don't say that. You were feeling good about the direction things were heading and I'm sure that…"

A hand clamped firmly over Jim's lips and it took Len a moment to realize it was his own. Sighing, he met Jim's worried gaze. "Take a look for yourself," he murmured, and dropped his shields.

His heart was heavy as he watched the full measure of understanding register in Jim's eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Well, shit, Bones, that doesn't mean anything. It's one stupid series of tests. So, you've eliminated these options and…"

"Dammit, Jim, it's not that simple." He tried to pull himself out of the chair, but his equilibrium was still shot to crap. Hovering on the edge of the seat, he let his head sink into his hands. "I've been pursuing this direction single-mindedly since I joined the project, pursuing it because I _knew_ it was right. I haven't cultivated other avenues. I haven't entertained other theories. And what am I supposed to do if the direction I _know_ to be right turns out to be wrong? What does this mean for Vulcan? I don't have any other ideas. I don't have anything else to offer."

"Bones, you're just one member. Aren't there other…"

"_NO! _No, Jim, no. They're wrong." With a furious wrench, he pulled himself out of the chair and whirled around. "They're wrong, dammit. I know it all looks good on a PADD but it's a dead end, I know it is. And they're all going along with it, all pursuing it like it's the miracle cure. I don't trust it, and I don't trust _him_."

"Who?"

Len glared, "Who do you think?"

Jim's back tensed, and a ripple of disgust raced across the bond. "Okay, look," he bit out slowly, "you know better than anyone how I personally feel about that bastard, but he _is_ a highly qualified research scientist, right. Maybe you should…"

"It's wrong, Jim." Len exploded. "I can't follow him, too." Pacing back and forth across the room, he pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes. "Oh, hell, what the fuck do I even know? Everything I thought made sense has turned out to be wrong. Maybe Tor knows what he's doing. Maybe I'm just as arrogant as I am stubborn, but I just can't trust it and I don't…"Slumping down on the window seat, he let his shoulders hang. "Shit…I just…I have to get out of here."

He was halfway through the kitchen when Jim caught him, wheeling him around to face him. "Like hell, Bones. You aren't leaving in this condition."

"Let go," he snarled, yanking his arm away. "You think just because you backed me into a corner and forced me into some messed up arranged marriage, you get to tell me what to do."

H wanted them back the second they left his mouth, wanted to reach out and hold Jim as the poor kid literally diminished beneath the crush of those words. He just couldn't, though, the rage and despair weighting his arms and dulling his conscience as Jim staggered two steps back to lean painfully but resolutely against the front door.

"Okay, Bones," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor, "I'm going to concentrate on what you're feeling right now, not on what you're saying. If you want to lash out at me, fine, and if you wanna run out of here so you can walk around feeling sorry for yourself, then you go ahead, but I'm not letting you leave unless you do two things."

He grimaced, "What?"

"First, you're not walking out the door in this condition, so you walk over there to your little bag of tricks and mix up something to sober you the hell up. I mean it," he continued when Len opened his mouth to protest.

Swallowing a growl, Len stomped over to his med bag and grabbed a hypo, snapping it together and holding it to his neck. An unwelcome sense of clarity flooded his system and he glared up at Jim from his crouch on the floor. "Satisfied?"

"Almost. Give me your PADD."

"Why?"

Clear, blue, immoveable eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. "Because _you_ might be perfectly happy to label yourself a failure, but I have a little more faith. I want to take a look at your results."

"You won't even know what you're looking at."

"Yeah, well, I guess that'll be my problem then, but if you want me to let you out of here, you're gonna give me the damned PADD."

They stared at each other furiously, ugly fire dancing in both their eyes, but Len already felt the fight leaking out of him. Grabbing the PADD out of his bag, he tossed it wildly to the left. Jim shot him an ugly glare as he sidestepped to snag it out of the air, and Len slipped quickly through the vacated door.

He didn't turn back as it slid shut behind him.

It was five hours later when he finally made it back to the penthouse. The walk had done a lot for his general emotional upheaval but the imposing sense of failure still hung heavy upon him as he palmed open the front door. He could feel them both now and he listened for a moment, detecting the muffled sound of voices from the study. He sighed but made his way towards the door. He'd unloaded so much of his own misery on Jim and the poor kid was already tip-toeing around him. He needed to smooth this over.

He expected Jim and Spock but not the head of chestnut ringlets and the perky disposition that met him at the door.

"Doktor McCoy," chirped the Russian whiz-kid, "Iz good to see you."

The kids smile was bright and mirrored enthusiastically by Jim from behind the desk. Spock stood to the left, his own expression rather satisfied, and Len felt his stomach lurch.

They'd found something.

Jim bolted from behind the desk, his expression practically gleeful as he threw an arm around Len's neck and held him close. "You damn, stubborn ass," he murmured into Len's neck, "Why do you always have to land so hard on yourself. I trust you, Bones. I trust you to fix anything and I _know_ that you're on the right track."

Yanking away, Len stalked furiously towards the window. "Dammit, Jim. I don't need a pep-talk. This isn't just me getting down on myself. There are much more serious things at play here."

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Jim pulled him back around to face him, frustration staining his features. "Christ, Bones, don't you think I know that. Believe me, things are much more serious than you even know, if my suspicions turn out to be correct. Now come over here and sit the hell the down so we can explain."

Rampant curiosity did a lot to tamp down on his dejection and Bones found himself walking over and throwing himself into one of the overstuffed chairs. Jim bounded back behind the desk to poke away at the computer over Chekov's shoulders, his face suddenly focused and serious. Drawing back, he patted the young ensign on the shoulder. "Okay, Pav, tell him."

The kid smiled, "Okay, Doktor, I know you vill say you are a doctor, not a computer specialist, so I vill keep zhis simple. You may not be avare of zhis, but it is nearly impossible to hack into a computer system vithout leaving some kind of trace. On zhe keptin's hunch, ve hafe retraced the computer records of the Wulcan plague research, and ve hafe stumbled upon just such a signature. Doktor, someone has been hacking into your system!"

Len allowed the words to sink in, his mind reeling. Someone had _hacked_ his system. "What exactly does that mean," he bit out, his voice teeming with frustration, "Are you telling me someone got into the system and changed the results?" His stomach clenched at the implications.

Across the desk, Jim grimaced, "They did something Bones, and while I can't prove conclusively that the results were changed, there isn't really any other reason to break into this system. I mean, the Vulcans have a vested interest in the proceeding, obviously, and many of them are exceptional computer techs, but they're just too far away and too sick. Besides, all they'd want is a look, I'm sure, and the traces indicate that _something _was altered in the database. So yeah, I can't prove that it was your results but, like I said, what else could it be?"

Staring at his clenched fists, Len felt his chest tighten in anger. Sensing the inevitable explosion, Jim carefully maneuvered Chekov towards the door, enthusiastically thanking the young ensign for his help. He'd walked the kid all the way to the front door and found his way back to the study before Len found his words.

"Jesus H. _Christ_, Jim," he burst out, leaping to his feet to pace frantically before the desk. "What the hell are you telling me? If someone's been changing my results, that means that any of those discarded serums could be a cure. Dammit, I don't even know if I can replicate some of them." His heart leaped in his chest, knotting tightly, and he winced at the pain. His eyes scanned desperately over the two faces before him, stark and bleak. There was something in Jim's eyes, though, something more, and he found himself pressing against their bond despite himself. "Why, Jim? Why would anyone break into my damn computer? You know something, dammit. I can see it in your eyes."

Jim nodded, his face ashen, "Yeah, I know something, but I had to wait until Pav left. Here, sit," he murmured, gesturing towards Len's vacated chair. "What I'm about to tell you two is strictly confidential and needs to stay that way, but I think it might be the answer." Casting a concerned look towards Spock, he continued. "Okay, there was a bunch of stuff that we discussed at the conference, and this wasn't even a major issue, but Starfleet has been doing some covert recon to search out better, faster, cheaper energy sources to power the bases and ships. I mean, they're always doing that, but recently they actually stumbled on something that might have some promise. It's a little knows mineral called narellium."

Len's mouth fell open but Jim rushed on ahead. "I know, Bones. I saw it in the report. But first, you should know this. Narellium is completely untapped and unprocessed. Currently, we have no way of harnessing its chemical structure to unleash its energy reserve. According to the geologists who spoke, though, it has the potential to produce roughly ten times the output of any known fuel source. It will literally blow dilithium right out of the water."

Len shot a quick glance at Spock, standing stiffly beside the desk. The Vulcan's mouth was tight and his eyes were dark with suspicion, and Len had a feeling Spock already knew where Jim was heading with this.

"So, yeah, Bones, the second I read your report, I had this sinking feeling. New Vulcan has enormous deposits of narellium. It's one of the crucial building blocks of the planet's geological make-up, and if someone were to find that out, well, it would be one a hell of a motivation to mess with the test results, right? I mean, right now the planet is classified as the official homeland of a sentient race but if that entire race dies off, the planet is up for claim again. All anyone would need to do is place the highest bid."

Len felt sick, the clench in his stomach giving way to rolling waves of nausea. "Who the hell would do that," he murmured, fixing his eyes on one unmoving spot on the floor.

Across the desk, he heard Spock draw a deep, angry breath. "Leonard, who can say. There are simply too many who are willing to profit off the death and destruction of others." His voice was tight with barely leashed fury and Len found himself reaching out to take his hand.

"Hey now, Spock, listen to me. If this is true, then the cure might already exist, okay. So don't you dare get all down and depressed. That's my damn job."

Spock nodded, squeezing his hand lightly. "I am not dejected, Leonard, simply encountering emotions upon which I do not wish to dwell. I am angry at the selfishness of a few, which negatively impacts the many." Pulling away gently, he stared stiffly at the far wall. "My people have suffered so much. They have lost their home, their history, their culture. When I lost my mother, I could at least take some small comfort in the understanding that her death was the result of another's legitimate pain and suffering. It wasn't fair or right, but it was manageable. This, however, is not. I cannot countenance losing what is left of my race, losing my father, because of someone's quest for monetary gain."

Spock's fists were clenching and his voice tight and Len could feel the helpless fury coursing across their bond. His eyes locked with Jim's as the other man stepped forward and took the rigid Vulcan gently by the shoulders.

"Listen to me," he began firmly, "Spock, listen to me right now. That isn't going to happen, Spock. We aren't going to let it happen. We know what's going on now and knowing is half the battle, right. Well, the other half is fixing what's broken, and we're going to do that right now." Keeping an arm tight around Spock's shoulders, Jim wheeled them both around to face Len, still slumped incredulously in his chair. "Bones, which series of tests do you think has the most promise?" he asked.

Pushing himself to his feet, Len ran a hand over his face. "These new ones are the most likely candidates. I've refined them pretty well. I had really high hopes for them," he continued sheepishly, "which is probably why I freaked out so bad." His face was filled with apology but Jim shook his head easily.

"All things considered, I'd say it was justified." He said, an easy smile on his face, "Now, we need to re-run these tests. What'll that entail?"

Leonard squeezed his eyes shut. "Well, there are twenty-five different serums in this series. It'll take me about four hours to prep and file all the slides and another ten to actually run the test. The problem, though, is that the tests have already been registered as failures in the project's database, and you said yourself that we don't have any way of proving that it was actually the results that were changed. That will leave some serious room for doubt and anyone who is trying to stall the cure could easily use that to muddy the waters."

Jim nodded. "What do you suggest, Doctor?"

Len frowned in consideration. "We'll need to establish constant surveillance on the tests as they run. Someone needs to be sitting over those samples the whole time. Then, I'll tabulate the results by hand so there won't be any opportunity to change them." Leaning back in his chair, he eyed Jim seriously. "It'll have to be you and me, okay. I just can't trust anyone else. We can do it in shifts."

Jim nodded but his easy agreement was immediately interrupted by the steady, forceful voice of their Vulcan. "That would be grossly impractical, Leonard, especially considering your current level of fatigue." Gliding away from the wall, he pinned the two humans with a piercing gaze. "You are, of course, well aware of my body's superior stamina and abbreviated rest requirements. It would be far more sensible for me to undertake the observation."

Leonard felt his stomach turn. "Dammit, Spock, I thought I made it clear that you weren't going anywhere near any of those tests. I don't care if the Lord God himself tells me you're immune. That still isn't a good reason to go playing around with stuff that might kill you."

A burst of fire leaped in Spock's eyes, belying his calm facade. "Doctor, it is my people who are in danger, and if I see fit to undertake a risk on their behalf, I'll thank you to let me do it. Besides, I consider the risk minimal."

Len snorted, "Oh, and why is that?"

A warm, gentle caress drifted across their bond and Len shivered beneath the feel of it. "Doctor, do you believe your cure is the correct one?"

Narrowing his eyes, Len nodded. Spock raised a brow, "Then I am certain that I am in no danger. In the rare event that I do fall ill, you will simply make me better."

They'd eaten first, at Leonard's insistence, but their joint anxiety was palpable and contagious. Despite the late hour, Starfleet Medical was still bright and looming as they strode up the stairs and through security. Spock joined him in his lab, helping him meticulously prep and mark each slide, patiently enduring the mask Len forced on him as they readied the tests. Scouring the halls, Jim used his easy charm to chat up the staff, carefully identifying the name and rank of every person still on the floor.

And they waited.

Ten hours crept by. Jim slept, nodding off on a lab stool, his head slumped back against the wall. Leonard slept, too, much to his amazement, fitfully and restlessly on the couch. In his dreams, Spock disappeared down dark tunnels, choking and gasping on his own words.

"_You should have left the two of us alone, Leonard. Look what your presence has brought."_

He tried to catch him but everything was black and clinging like burrs and Spock was vanishing right in front of him. He pushed and struggled but the cutting, burning sting became worse, dragging him down, pulling him away where he could give no aid, when hot hands suddenly grasped his face, warm and firm and healthy.

"_Leonard, I am well."_ The voice insisted as warm arms enveloped him and held him close. He relaxed into the hands, his eyes scanning the lab for any signs of slicing darkness but he saw only Jim, startled awake and staring at him with concern. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly into Spock's shoulder.

"Do not be. It is my understanding that human dreams often reflect their creator's mental unrest, and you are certainly justified in some of that."

He nodded groggily, sitting up straight on the little couch and glancing towards the test. "Where do we stand, here?"

Spock pulled him up carefully and strode over to the computer. "Forty-five point six minutes, to be exact, Doctor." With a quirk of his brow, he nodded towards the door. "Might I suggest you go get some coffee?"

The minutes paced by, slow, infuriating, each one curling and drifting away like smoke. Forty, Thirty-seven, twenty-six, and the beat of each passing second became a prayer. Please, please, please, please, please let him be right. Ten minutes, five, please, please, two minutes…one…

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

Len jumped. "Okay, that's it. We need to examine the results by hand. Spock, grab that PADD. I need you to record each test."

His hands trembled as he picked up the first slide and slid it onto the microscope stage. Gritting his teeth, he peered at the results.

"Leonard?" Spock's voice broke through his haze. He sighed heavily.

"It's negative, Spock. It's close, I think, but definitely negative."

"Okay, well, close is good," Jim voiced from the desk. "Let's keep going."

He nodded, "Okay." He quickly removed the slide and fitted the second one.

"Number Two?"

"Negative."

"Number Three?"

"Negative."

He felt his stomach clenching again, the jittery sense of hopeful anticipation taking on a tight and heavy feel. Please, he begged as he slid each slide in, please, please, please, as he discarded test after test.

"Number Seventeen?"

"Negative."

"Number Eighteen?"

"Negative."

"Number Nineteen? Leonard?"

"Wait a second."

He'd have to re-test, he knew that, but they'd worry about that later. Pulling out the replicated test casings, he hermetically sealed the packages and the tri-corders that held the results. Jim was pacing. "I don't like it. Why not just wait until we get back."

"Jim, this is also a diversion," he muttered as he placed another replication back on the microscope. "I want to keep the focus on me, not you, and if I'm calling the head of the program in for an emergency meeting, then it might draw all the attention. We still have no idea who's behind this or what they're capable of. You know, _besides_ hacking in to top secret computer systems and destroying cures for pandemics. We have to get this to a secure location. C'mon, you know how this works," he continued as he handed them the sealed packages. "Okay, this is the original. This one goes to Pike. I don't want him to do anything but lock it in a safe environment. And this one," he gestured to the package in Spock's hands, "needs to be sent to the ambassador. He still isn't showing any signs of illness and should be as immune as you. I want him to run a separate set of tests to corroborate our finding." Looking up, he met their eyes. "Okay, any questions."

Jim shook his head. "No, but you be damn careful. Don't let anyone in here but Settle."

Striding forward, he pulled the nervous kid into a hug, "Dammit, Jim," he whispered, "I know how to handle this. I'll be fine, but you need to get those results out of here. I want them secure as soon as possible." Pressing a kiss to Jim's cheek, he pulled back and met both their eyes. "Please."

Jim gritted his teeth but nodded. "Fine."

He hit send on his comm as he they entered the lift, his carefully worded message to Settle broadcasting over unsecured channels. Sinking down onto the couch, his eyes on the door, he waited.

His body felt depleted, run ragged by too many adrenaline rushes. He'd run an emotional gauntlet in the last twenty-four hours; fury, fear, misery, victory. They'd found it. He almost couldn't believe it but they'd found it. A cure, a guarantee that he wouldn't have to look into Spock's face as the rest of his people died. He was almost electric with fury that someone had dared mess with his results, but even that couldn't diminish his exhilaration. They'd found a cure and he wasn't too stubborn to admit that Jim was the reason. Jim, with his unyielding faith.

His mind kept returning to the shower, to the curl of Jim's hands around him and the earnest love in his eyes. Oh, fuck this. Fuck all this damn penance. The kid had believed in him when he'd needed it, had fought hard based on nothing but trust, and it was time he returned the favor. It was over, done, they were even. If Jim said he was sorry, well, that was good enough for him.

His air caught the faint hint of blips of a touchpad, the whir or the door, and he looked up to see Philip Settle standing in his doorway. The man's face was a mishmash of complete joy and profound confusion as he stepped into the lab.

"Are you serious, Leonard?" he gasped, his voice tight and hopeful. "You've found it. Are you sure?"

Smiling, Len pushed to his feet. "Yeah, Phil, I'm sure."

Settle closed his eyes, his head nodding gently. "Have you told anyone else," he asked softly, his hands twisting uneasily. Len's eyes took in his motions, his unease, and a sinking suspicion formed in his stomach. This wasn't right. Sidestepping casually, he kept the desk between them as he threw out his bait. "Nope. I thought you deserved to be the first to know."

Settle nodded, a flicker of relief skirting his features. "Show me," he ordered evenly, pacing towards the lab table.

"It's right there," Len gestured toward the microscope. "Take a look."

He kept his eyes fixed on Settle's back as the older man strode forward and stared at the slide, his attention totally absorbed by the truth before him. Keeping his eyes up and steady, Len reached into his desk, fitting his hypo with a mild sedative and sliding it carefully up his sleeve. Settle's reaction was weird, but by no means conclusive, and Len wouldn't risk hurting him if he could help it. "You can see for yourself," he said, as he strode carefully behind the distracted scientist. "The antibodies are already causing the reaction to recede. It won't even be too hard…"

He froze. The familiar, cold pressure against his neck was quick and the result instantaneous as his legs buckled and he sprawled into waiting his arms. His body numbed and his vision swam but he fought the encroaching darkness long enough to make out the face hovering above his.

"You."

"Honestly, McCoy, did you really expect someone else? Settle? Please."

"But how? Why?"

The dark, black eyes peered at him curiously and he could feel invading hooks pressing into his mind. "You know the answers to both those questions, McCoy. Don't play dumb, and stop trying to fight the drug. I need to get into your head. I'd prefer doing it without hurting you but I will if you make me."

The edges of his mind were pressing in on him, pulling and sucking him down, but he fought and squirmed and swam desperately towards the light.

"Fuck you."

"Oh, I hope so, Doctor, but that'll have to wait until later. Now go to sleep."

There was a hand on his head and an invader in his mind that seized him and pulled, down, down, down.

"No_, no_ dammit, no!"

Down.

" _Dammit, Jim, no, Spo…"_

* * *

**A/N: This is most likely the second to last chapter. Author breathes sigh of relief.**


	11. Chapter Ten

**This is it, folks.**

**And Paramount still owns Star Trek.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten:**

Pike stared at the wall, his head nodding slowly at Jim's words. His lips were pressed thin and his knuckles white on the arms of his chair as Jim's words tapered off. This was just the kind of thing to royally piss an honorable man like Pike off.

"So, how do we catch them," he demanded. "Is there any way to trace the infiltration back to the source?"

Jim shrugged. "I didn't look that carefully, but I doubt it. They obviously know what they're doing. I don't think they'd be sloppy enough to leave a trace."

Pike glared. "But you did find a trace. You knew they broke in."

"Yeah, but it was really well-covered. It took me, Spock, and Chekov to identify the signature, but it was nothing but a crack left in the wall. There was nothing attached to it, no trail to follow, just proof that someone had been there." Fisting his hands, Jim met Pike's furious expression.

"C'mon, Jim, there has to be something. The implications of this kind of an act are astronomical. Attacks against sentient races for profit are exactly the kinds of things Starfleet is supposed to protect against. It's our duty to find out who did this and bring them to justice."

Pike's voice was taking on a decidedly aggressive tone that was grating Jim's already frayed nerves. "Chris, I came here for help, not for a lecture about my duty to Starfleet. Believe me; no one feels this more than me. They messed with Bones' work and Spock's people, and I have every damn intention of hunting them down and making them regret the hell out of it. But that's for later. Right now, what we need more than anything is to protect this cure, and I need your help to do it. I need you to keep this locked away and to draw no attention to yourself, okay.

Strain registered on Pike's face. "Look, Jim, I'm sorry, but you aren't known for you caution, and your recent actions have me concerned. I mean, you didn't even tell anyone before you ran off and got _married_." Pike's eyes met his, hurt blending with a sliver of challenge. "I thought I had given you enough reasons to trust me."

Jim sighed heavily, crouching down near Pike's chair. "It's just not that simple, Chris. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, really sorry, but I promise you, it's not like we just ran off to Vegas together one night. It was complicated and messy and because I _do_ trust you, I swear I'll tell you the whole story some day, as long as Spock and Bones are okay with it. I do trust you, which is why I'm here."

Look," he continued, ruffling an agitated hand through his hair, "I have no idea how far up this goes, or who's involved. I'm assuming there's someone working on the inside, but I'm not even sure about that. All we know for certain is that someone deliberately changed Bones' test results. Whoever's behind this, they're obviously willing to go to pretty fucked-up lengths to get what they want and I doubt that killing a few Starfleet officers would upset them much. Spock and I snuck this stuff out of Starfleet Medical, illegally, by the way, to make sure there was no way for these people to make the cure disappear again, and we left Bones back there, totally unprotected, to act as a fucking diversion." Pulling himself to his feet, he sank back heavily on the desk behind him, his voice marred with real fear. "I'm sorry if you feel slighted but I just don't have the fucking time to stand here and hash this out right now. I need an answer. Will you sit on this for me or not?"

He heard the whir or Pike's chair as the admiral rounded on him. "What the hell do you mean, you left him unprotected?"

Jim grimaced, his hands digging into the hard edge of the desk. "Someone's already almost destroyed this cure once. We weren't taking any chances. We just took the cure and ran."

"You didn't call security or inform anyone in the admiralty? Jesus, Kirk."

"I _did_ inform the admiralty. I informed _you_," Jim barked, real anger creeping into his voice as he pushed away from the desk to stalk the length of the room. "Chris, we weren't just going to sit there and let the Vulcan's cure linger in a vulnerable state while Starfleet tried to consider all the possible P.R. implications, or whatever other bullshit they could dream up. We weren't going to leave the only copy of this in the hands of bureaucrats _or_ the people who tried to destroy it in the first place. Our only concern was to get it to safety, and we came here because we knew you were safe. But don't think for one second that I don't realize how dangerous this is, which is why I'd really appreciate an answer so Spock and I can go get our fucking _husband_."

They glared in a tense stand-off as Pike quickly ran Jim's speech through his head again. He could read it on Pike's face when the man finally relented, when the sensibility of his words sank in, and the breath he hadn't realized he was holding hissed between his teeth.

"Okay, Jim," the older man intoned, nodding his head deferentially, "I'll trust you on this. What do you want me to do?"

Jim paused for a second, re-tracing the plan in his mind. They needed Pike to hold a sample here, securely, until they'd managed to bring the cure public. If something happened to them, it would be up to the ambassador to take the copy that Spock was sending to him via the _hopefully_ secure Vulcan ambassadorial comm lines and go public. Chris just needed to keep it hidden, keep it safe, no matter what, and that meant keeping his head down, whether he liked it or not. Turning back to the seated man, he opened his mouth to explain.

And his mind blew apart.

It took little more than a second and he was back; seeing, thinking, breathing. His brain felt okay, he guessed, but somewhat off-balance, as if he had re-booted and programs were still coming on line. Pike's eyes narrowed in concern as Jim ran through his own head; memories, access codes, the spot on the farm where he'd buried his goldfish Blinkey. Everything was accounted for except…

Oh, _Shit_!

Words came pouring out of him, maybe verbally, maybe across their bond, as he raced down the hall towards Pike's study. "Spock…SPOCK…Jesus, Spock, get out here. Something's wrong." Strong hands caught him in the hallway and he nearly took them both into the wall. "He's gone, Spock. I can't feel him anywhere."

Spock's face looked stoic but Jim could sense his panic as the Vulcan closed his eyes and delved deeply into their collective minds. Jim could feel the harsh bite of his own fingernails digging into the palms of his clenched fists as he waited, heart hammering as Spock searched. Finally, _finally_, the Vulcan's eyes flew open, intense relief blending with blood-deep fury. His voice was murderously calm as he spoke.

"Leonard is alive, Jim, and currently unharmed, at least physically." Pushing off the wall, he turned and stalked down the hall. "It would appear someone is placing a block on our bond."

"A block? Who the hell…why?

"Unknown." Reaching into their things, Spock retrieved a communicator and tossed it to Jim. "Contact Medical Security and have them converge on Leonard's lab immediately," he ordered. "Admiral, we are in need of phasers."

Pike nodded, leading Spock into a side room while Jim called the Security office. There was no answer. How the _hell_ could there be no answer? It was a secure fucking medical facility, filled with all kinds of top-secret shit. He felt his stomach heaving. Jesus Christ, this was bad. What the hell had they left Bones in the middle of?

"Spock…shit, Spock, no one's responding."

"Jim, that is not possible. They would not simply abandon their posts." Spock paused. "Unless…"

Jim's eyes blew wide. "_What_? Unless what?" He demanded.

The Vulcan's hands were fisted tight, the slightest of tremors tainting his voice. "Jim, someone is blocking our bond. This could only be accomplished by a being with exceptional telepathic abilities. There are several capable species, each of whom would also be able to project their telepathy and use it to manipulate other's minds. It is illegal and immoral but certainly possible. Vulcans possess this ability and so do…"

"Betazoids?"

Spock's eyes met his. "Correct."

"Son of a _bitch._" Jim raged, slamming a fist into the wall, "I knew we couldn't trust that bastard. I swear to God, if he's touched…_fuck_." Flexing his bleeding knuckles, Jim met the Vulcan's stare. "Okay, so we operate as if Tor is the threat."

"Tor?" interjected a shocked Pike, "The Betazoid on the team? Jim, I know his father and I can tell you, the psionic abilities of that family are very high. If what you're saying is true, we don't know how many people he could be controlling." Turning to Spock, he asked, "Will your bond protect you?"

Spock nodded, "Yes, but only if it holds. Tor is attempting to damage it."

"Will that expose you?"

"It will likely lead to our deaths."

Pike blinked, "Well then, what the hell are you still doing here? Take the phasers. I'll place a call to the campus security force and have them meet you at Medical."

Jim shook his head. "_No_, Chris, you can't get involved. Your name can't be connected in anyway. We don't even know who in security we can trust."

"Jim, you need backup."

"I know." He snapped, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, give me the damn comm unit."

The back of the chair bit into his shoulder blades, digging into the muscles as his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. His neck felt spindly and weak as his aching head lolled to the right, but he forced his eyes to scan the room, to take in the distance to the door, Settle's catatonic slump against the wall, and the relaxed set of his attacker's shoulders as he stood in front of the computer console, casually destroying the lifeline of an entire people group.

"Now don't get any stupid ideas, McCoy." Turning around, Tor leaned idly against the counter and let his eyes wander over Len's sprawled form. "Your nervous system isn't going to start working properly again for about four more hours, and by then you probably won't need it anyway. It really is a shame," he continued, striding over and crouching down, letting a hand wander almost gently through Len's hair. "I had a few very colorful plans for you, Doctor, but you certainly know how to complicate a situation."

Len smirked. "Sorry to be a bother," he muttered.

Tor's expression darkened. "Apology just not accepted, McCoy." He hissed, hands tightening painfully in Len's hair. "You see, this was supposed to be very simple. I was just supposed to manipulate the minds of the research team away from an actual cure and direct them down an avenue that looked promising but was a dead-end. But you and that Vulcan, and that stupid, arrogant human just had to bring matrimony into the equation. The three of you, acting as each other's little gate-keepers, locking me out of your minds. Well, that comes to an end right now."

Mustering all his strength, Len yanked his head away, the momentum propelling him sharply sideways. With a frustrated growl, Tor hauled him back steady, dropping him hard on the seat. "Didn't you hear me, McCoy? Your muscles don't work right now. There is no escape."

Len grimaced. "So what are you going to do?"

Grinning, Tor patted his cheek. "Oh, what am I going to do? Well, now that I've completely wiped out all remnants of your cure, including the records of the formula and all the samples, I'm going to destroy the last remaining stronghold. You conceived this. Every element of that cure is locked away in that brilliant brain of yours, McCoy, and I just can't have that. So, I'm going to erase it, Doctor."

Len recoiled inwardly. "How? You said yourself that you can't get through our bond."

Leaning in close, Tor let his hot breath pant across Len's face. "Doctor, what do you notice right now? Can you feel them, Doctor? Can you feel them at all?"

An ungovernable sense of panic caused his heart to stutter. Dammit, the crazy bastard was right. He couldn't feel them, not anywhere.

A malicious smile curled the Betazoid's lips. "Nothing terribly complicated, McCoy. I just put a very basic block on your bond. It wouldn't stand a chance against an accomplished telepath like your Vulcan, but it'll do a fair enough job on you." His hand struck out, roughly seized Len's chin. "That bond of yours caused me more trouble then you know. I fucking hate it, McCoy, and I'm not really the merciful type. So, I'm going to kill it, Doctor. I'm going to rip it right out of your head."

Len's blood ran to ice. "You can't. We can't…it's been too long."

"That's right, that's the whole reason you had to jump into wedlock in the first place, isn't it. Yes, McCoy, it'll damage you all irreparably, no doubt about that. It might even kill you, but I don't have time to worry about that anymore. In fact, I can't even feel sorry. You brought it on yourself. If you hadn't run off and eloped, your mind would've been totally opened to me and I wouldn't have had to hurt anyone."

"Right, except for the ten thousand Vulcans who would've fucking _died_," Len sneered, his contempt bubbling over as he stared at Tor's calm features. His damned hands wouldn't work, but if they did, God, he'd rip the bastard's smug face off.

"Ah, yes, them. Collateral damage, Doctor," the Betazoid replied indifferently. "You've heard of evolution, McCoy; natural selection? Well, guess what. They were selected."

"What the hell are you saying, man," Len yelled, his blood leaping in his veins. "There was nothing natural about what happened to Vulcan. A lunatic blew up their planet. Don't try to slap some kind of noble label on your genocide. I know what this is really about."

Tor smiled, "You do, too, don't you, Doctor. I guess your little golden boy figured it out. Well, Narellium is the future, Doctor, and I want a part of it."

"It isn't even viable yet."

"Not yet, but it will be, and all thanks to me. I created an entire chemical sequence for a pseudo-cure for the Vulcans' syndrome that was complete nonsense but still looked good enough to fool the most brilliant minds in Starfleet. You don't think I can work out a way to process a simple element and turn it into fuel? Have a little more faith, Doctor."

"So, that's it, huh. You're going to kill off an entire race for money."

"Um, yes. That's what I was hired to do, after all, and my backers are rather insistent. And now, Doctor, as much as I love chatting with you, this is a public building and I can't take forever." Leaning down, he ran a thumb lightly over Len's bottom lip. "I don't imagine it matters much now, since I'm about to tear your mind apart, but just so you know, I wanted you. And who knows, maybe I'll still have you. I mean, you'll be an idiot, but you'll still be pretty and probably very willing to please. Maybe I can keep you as a fucktoy, McCoy. That way, you'll still be contributing to advancements in science, you know, as my stress relief."

Len willed his limbs to move, but they were leaden and useless. Tor's hands flanked his face, his fingertips digging in deep, and Leonard could feel the sharp, stabbing pain as the bastard's encroaching mind ripped mercilessly at the bond. His eyes were watering fiercely and his stomach was rolling and churning as he kicked and beat helplessly at the wall in his head, screaming his mental voice hoarse for Spock or Jim to hear him. Then suddenly the pressure receded, and Tor was standing in front of him, his mask of arrogant certainty fraying around the edges.

"They're good," he muttered. "I'll give them that. It looks like I underestimated their attachment to you, Doctor. They know I blocked you, it would seem, and your little Vulcan paramour is doing his best to shore up your bond. It's pretty strong, which means he must be getting closer." Striding over to the comm unit mounted on the wall, he threw a smirk at Len over his shoulder. "Don't worry, McCoy, I have contingency plans. Let's see how they handle this."

Even at midnight, Starfleet Medical was heavily illuminated but from his perch in the shadows, Jim couldn't make out a single moving soul in the entire glass-front building. No Starfleet personnel or researchers scurried through the floors, no security forces roamed the halls. The entire building could have been empty. Glancing up at the tenth floor, he scanned the windows carefully for any sign of Bones but the Xenobiology lab was located on the other side of the building, well out of eyesight. Well, they couldn't sit around here, waiting for some sign of life in the building. They'd just have to make do with what little recon they had.

Turning around, he considered the small group of men below him, unable to quell a rising sense of pride. One quick comm was all it took and he had a mini-militia on his hands. God, he loved his crew.

Jumping down off the wall that had been his vantage point, he walked over and crouched down beside Sulu. Scotty had located a building blueprint, and he, Spock, and Leslie were poring over the details while Chekov, Kyle, and Riley stared over their shoulders. Looking around him, Jim felt a real sense of relief. These men were battle-proven and committed to him, Spock, and Bones. Their situation was improving.

"So, Captain, what are we looking at here," asked his helmsmen. Seven pairs of eyes trained on Jim, and blinked hard at the ground. He needed to check his emotions, needed to treat this like any other mission. It was the best thing he could do to guarantee Bones' survival.

"Okay, from what I can see, there's no visible movement in the building, not even security, which goes against regulation. As a result, we're going in under the assumption that the security force has been manipulated and will treat us with hostility. But, and this is important, you have to remember that these people probably aren't in control of their actions. Also, there could still be unarmed personnel and civilians in there. We absolutely cannot use deadly force.

I want you all to know that I will understand if you don't want to do this. This isn't sanctioned and I'm not sure what the fallout could be. So, I'm not your captain right now, and this isn't any kind of order. I'm just your friend asking for your help."

"Well I owe you," said Sulu, meeting Jim's eyes. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."

"Hell, we all would," declared the Scotsman, "And McCoy's saved all our lives as well. I'm with you, Captain." Five head nodded in agreement.

Jim nodded, catching Spock's grateful eyes. "Thanks, I mean it. So how do we do this?"

"If I may, Captain," interjected Riley, "I think I have an idea. How many are on the security team?"

"Ten."

"Okay, well, we're already slightly outnumbered, so let's give ourselves as many advantages as we can get. The building is fourteen stories and the top floor is mostly storage. If they're expecting us, it'll be from the ground. I think we should take the turbolifts to the fourteenth floor. I know it's a confined space but there shouldn't be anyone there. Once out, we split into two groups and each take a stairwell. We'll be dividing their forces and fighting from higher ground."

Around the circle, the group nodded in consideration. Seeking out his mate's pensive gaze, Jim asked, "Spock, tell me what you think?"

"The plan is sound," he replied, carefully rolling up the schematic. "In light of our limited intelligence, it is our most logical option."

"What are the odds?"

The glare Spock fixed on him was long and piercing. "Jim, I cannot speculate about such things when our bondmate is in peril. The odds are excellent because we will not fail."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Okay, boys, you up for this?'

Seven heads nodded.

"Then let's do it. Set your phasers to stun."

For a brief moment, Spock had entertained the notion that he and Jim had overreacted. Not in regards to Leonard, for there was no denying the block on their bond, but in their assessment of the threat the security detail might create. Starfleet Medical had been barren and silent, and their quick journey to the top floor without event. The floor appeared secure and it was with a sense of relief that they had broken off into two groups and he and Misters Leslie, Chekov, and Scott had begun their descent down Stairwell B. They had easily traversed two floors, carefully sealing each door as they descended when, to borrow a colorful metaphor, all hell had broken lose. Six members of the Medical security team had opened fire from below, heedless of their own safety as they attempted to push their way up the stairwell. Their actions were wildly aggressive and it quickly became obvious that _he_ was their primary target. A deluge of unchecked fury washed over him as he considered the Betazoid's nerve. This man intended to steal away his life, his mate's, his people's, for money? Pressing himself back against the wall as phaser shots rained erratically around them, he gave himself over fully to the emotional sensation of rage.

"Mr. Scott," he stated sharply, "I require cover-fire."

The Scotsman's brows shot up. "Where the hell are you going?"

Checking both his phasers, Spock met his eyes. "I, Mr. Scott, am walking down those stairs."

He pressed back against the wall as the men took position above him and began to unleash a barrage of firepower down the center of the stairwell. He could not feel Leonard, could not ascertain his mate's health or well-being, and the unwelcome sensation was pushing him to unusual aggression. Creeping silently down the stairs as his men continued to fire, he allowed the confines of his mental shields to unfold, letting instinct surpass logic as he caught the eyes of his shipmates and cut off their fire with the flick of his hand.

He did not think, he just acted, leaping over the railing to land lightly on the eleventh floor landing, throwing his back against the wall for balance as he fired, one, two, three, and the three security officers standing across from him collapsed in a stunned stupor. A sudden impulse sent him dropping to his knee as a well-aimed phaser shot exploded beside his head. Flinging himself on his stomach, he slid head-first down the next flight of stairs, blasting through the railings as he moved, striking another guard as the last two continued to fire up at him. Reaching the mid-way landing, he flung himself flat on his back as a fresh onslaught of firepower continued to fly over him from the floor below. And he waited, counting slowly backwards from ten until the briefest of hesitations by his last two assailants gave him the opening he needed.

With a vicious twist, Spock threw his feet up over his head, flipping down the stairs, firing blindly at his opponents as their own shots flew past his head. He took no protective measures as their shots barely missed him, the full tumult of his rage racing up his body as he took down a fifth guard and descended the stairs. The last assailant broke off his fire, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the stairwell as Spock eyed his shadow, took careful aim, and discharged. He heard the thud as the man crumpled to the floor.

"Nice shot." A voice rang above him and his head jerked up. "You alright there, Mr. Spock."

Holstering one of his weapons, he met the Scotsman's eye. "I believe I am emotionally compromised, Mr. Scott, but I do not have the damn time to consider the ramifications." Flinging the tenth floor door open, he checked his position and ducked through the door. Following in his wake, Scotty couldn't help but shake his head as Leslie mouthed the words "_Damn_?" Emotionally compromised, indeed.

The floor was empty and the relatively open floor plan left little room for an ambush as they hurried towards Leonard's lab. Spock felt the block give slightly beneath his assault and it quickened his pace. Making a quick left, he raced came to a halt before the entrance to the lab, the other three right behind him.

"Well, isn't this lovely," murmured the Scotsman as he took in the damage to the keypad. "Mr. Spock, I can fix it but it'll take a minute. I don't suppose there's a way to cut through the walls?"

"This is an exceptionally secure facility, Mr. Scott. The walls are made to be impervious. How much time would you estimate?"

Scotty ran his fingers over the shattered keypad. "To fix this mess? Twenty minutes? Whoever, did this really knew what they were doing."

Spock nodded, clenching his fists against an uncharacteristic tremor. "Very well. Please proceed. In the meantime, there are aids I may provide the doctor even from out here. I will need as much quiet as possible in order to concentrate."

Scotty nodded. "Aye, sir, we'll keep it down. Do what you can for McCoy."

"Thank you. When the captain arrives, please send him to me immediately."

Spock slid into a nearby cubicle, seating himself cross-legged on the floor, his phaser ready beside him. Throwing open the bond, he carefully examined the block before pushing out.

"_Jim?"_

"_Spock! Are you alright?"_

"_We are fine, Jim. And you?"_

"_Yeah, we're okay, but the bastards have us pinned down real good. We can't get a clear line of fire. It's like they're not worried about hitting us, just holding us in our position."_

"_Indeed? The one's we encountered were extremely aggressive. I was forced to stun them all."_

"_Yeah, well, Tor's no fool. He knows you're his biggest threat. Where are you?"_

"_Outside Leonard's lab. The door has been disabled. Mr. Scott is repairing it, but he estimates twenty minutes._

"_TWENTY…shit!"_

"_Jim, I am close enough to eradicate the block. I will use the bond to help Leonard hold Tor at bay. However, I will need you here as soon as possible. The three of us together should be able to resist the attack. We could possibly even expel Tor from Leonard's mind."_

"_How?"_

"_Consider this a unique form of mental warfare, Jim. Leonard needs commitment and resolve. It is up to us to provide the motivations for those feelings, Jim. Now, I will focus all my energy on Leonard and will not be able to communicate verbally with you until you get here. When you do, put your hands on my shoulders and I will bring you to us. And please hurry."_

"_I'm coming. Spock…I love you."_

Despite himself, Spock smiled, "_And I you."_

Shifting himself minutely on the ground, Spock took several deep, calming breaths. He allowed his mind to drift down the length of the bond, feeling the smooth, soothing rightness of it over and around his mind. He saw the barricade, ugly and rippled and weak before him and drew back a hand, reaching deeply into the primal nature of his ancestors.

And swung.

"_SPOCK?"_

"_Leonard."_

"_God, Spock, how the hell did you do that?"_

"_The block was insubstantial. I simply had to gain closer proximity to you."_

"_Closer…where the hell are you?"_

"_I am outside your lab, less than twenty feet away. Your captor disabled the doors. Tor, I believe?"_

"_Yeah, it's him. God, Spock, please, please, you've got to get in here. He's fucking killing me. It's burning everywhere. It hurts so damn bad."_

Gently exploring, Spock assessed that Leonard's pain must be great indeed. The confines of the doctor's mind were red-hot, the walls buckling and rippling as if they were melting away. Leonard's strength was waning, his mind cowering away, and it would take very little for the Betazoid to tear the bond from him.

"_Leonard, do you know what I need from you?"_

"_No, tell me."_

"_We can fight him, Leonard, the three of us together. We can man the walls in your mind and keep him out. All that is required of you, Leonard, is the conviction to make it happen. You must believe it is possible."_

He felt his fragile doctor, felt him fighting the burning onslaught in his own head. How strong this man was, how brave and resilient, and a flash of epiphany jolted Spock's racing mind.

"_Leonard, do you still doubt me?"_

"_Oh, great timing, Spock. Are you kidding me?"_

"_Leonard, you do still doubt me. Not all the time, but there are moments when you simply cannot believe that we belong together. Tell me, Leonard, what do you remember of our bonding?"_

"_Spock, my brain is on fucking fire. Please, I need your help. God, don't bring that up."_

"_Leonard, I must and I ask that you trust me. I want you to remember that day. Tell me what you remember."_

"_Oh, dammit. Heat, I remember heat. I remember a burning pain in my head. I remember drowning in your hatred."_

"_No, Leonard, never my hatred. Never. My passion and my anger and my fury that you could arouse such responses in me, but never hate. I wanted to shake you and pin you down because I wanted, needed, to touch you. Go back to that day. You're trapped in my arms, my body in front of you. Tell me, what do you feel behind you?"_

"_The fucking wall."_

"_What does it feel like?"_

"_The wall? Hell, I don't know. Hard, cold, immovable."_

"_Immovable?"_

"_Yes, it has me trapped. I can't move it and I can't move you."_

"_Yes, Leonard, it is immovable. Think about that. Focus on it. Feel your back against it. Push back against it. Push as hard as you can."_

"_Godda…Shit, I'm trying. I'm fucking trying."_

"_Good. Now, I am standing next to you. I am leaning against the wall and pushing with you. Keep pushing, Leonard. Can you feel me there? I am right beside you. Feel me."_

"_Yeah, yeah, I feel you. Oh damn, my head feels, it feels cooler. Spock, what the hell are we doing here?"_

"_We are pushing, Leonard. We are pushing him out."_

"_Alright, okay, but how long can we do this? I already feel like my damn feet are slipping."_

"_Leonard, Jim is coming. He is almost here. The three of us together can block him out permanently."_

"_You're sure."_

"_Leonard, there is a compelling and logical reason why I have avoided raising any discussion of our bonding before now. I feared it would destroy the delicate balance we were beginning to find together, and I treasured that too much to take the risk. However, there are some simple truths I would like to share with you, if you will allow me. It may bolster your faith."_

"_Spock, dammit, I try not to dwell…"_

"_Trust me, Leonard. Please. You recall that day, obviously. Can you identify the actual moment?"_

"_I'm not sure. I know you grabbed me and then I don't remember speaking out loud after that."_

"_That is correct, Leonard. The bond was almost immediate. I caught you in the middle of sickbay and by the time we had reached the far wall, it was already cemented. Think on that, think on me lunging at you and grabbing your arms. What do you feel?"_

"_Fury, I feel fury. Yours and mine. And fear, my fear."_

"_Yes, all those things were there. Now, concentrate on the fear. Reach out and push it away. And the anger, too. Can you move them aside?"_

"_I'm trying. God, Spock, they don't want to move."_

"_Please try, Leonard. You need to know this. You need to see it for yourself."_

"_Okay, alright. Alright, they're moving, they're…oh, Jesus, Spock. Jesus!"_

"_Do you feel it, ashayam, the perfect seamlessness of it? Despite our rage and pain, we simply slipped together flawlessly. There are no gaps here, Leonard, no cracks or fissures for him to seep through. Our bond is secure. He will not break us apart."_

A metallic screech echoed from across the room and Spock found himself back into the world of the hallway. In front of him, Scotty had exposed the entire control panel and was hastily maneuvering wires as Mr. Sulu handed him tools. But the helmsman had been with Jim, which could only mean…

"_I'm here, Spock. Bring me in."_

Warm hands caressed his shoulders, wrapping around him to hold him close. He closed his eyes, raced back down the bond and…

"_BONES."_

"_You damn lunatic. Where the hell have you been?"_

"_Oh, hell, Bones, I don't know. Hiding your cure. Fighting possessed security guards. Granted, it hasn't been as shitty as your day but can't you cut me some slack. I'm here to save you, after all."_

"_Listen, kid, you want to play hero, you better get over here and start pushing."_

"_Pushing? Pushing what?"_

"_Push on the wall. Dammit, Jim, think of my sickbay. Think of the wall next to my office door. Can you see it?"_

"_Yeah, sure."_

"_Now, imagine Spock and I are leaning against it and pushing really hard. Now walk your ass over here and join in."_

"_Just push?"_

"_Push, Jim, push now!"_

"_I'm fucking trying."_

"_Try Harder!"_

"_Dammit, where…there…Now?"_

"_Yes, YES. Oh, thank God. He's gone."_

"_No, Leonard, he is not. Do not drop your guard. He is hovering outside the perimeter and I assure you, that he will be back at the first sign of weakness. We can only restrain him if we stay alert."_

"_So, how did you two hold him off?"_

"_Leonard and I had a long overdue discussion regarding our bonding."_

"_Yeah, I can see that. So, you two just slipped together, huh. Not surprising. You too are weirdly made for each other."_

"_I guess. So are we, Jim."_

"_What, you think you have to tell me that? I handed you back that flask, Len, on that damn shuttle. You remember, right. Our fingers brushed and I got a jolt, a genuine jolt from my head to my toes. And all I wanted, from that moment on, was to take your hand and hold it. I didn't think about fucking you or even kissing you. I just wanted to slide our fingers together and never let go. So, yeah, Bones, we just slipped together, too."_

"_You felt it with him, too, didn't you."_

"_Yeah. Yeah, I did."_

"_My God, you couldn't have resisted it."_

"_Resisted it? No, but I could've seen it for what it was supposed to be. But that doesn't matter because this, what we have here, is what was supposed to happen. We're here, we're together, and nobody is going to take it away, least of all this prick who has more than worn out his fucking welcome. Do you hear me, Bones?"_

"_I hear you."_

"_Spock?"_

"_I do, Jim."_

"_Okay, well, I think it's about time we roust this fucker. Are you ready?"_

"_I am."_

"_Let's do this."_

"_Okay, on three. One…Two…_

The resistance was strong. There was give to it, but it still felt heavy and thick, like pushing through a wall of mud. It was sticky and dirty and clinging, but the sheer filth of it just made Spock want to push harder, to punch through and permanently drive this creature away from them. Reaching out, he interlaced their minds, tripling their strength as he shoved again. He could feel Tor's presence buckling, pieces breaking away and dripping around them, but Spock had no mercy for his enemy's mind. He shoved again and again, ramming against Tor's mind as it fell apart around him. They were close, so close, to breaking through. He could feel the other side and a rush of raw determination surged through him. Pulling on the substantial strength of his mates, he cast his mind out, netting ever last nuance of the Betazoid in Leonard's head. It was wounded and weak, but Spock felt no guilt as he used this to his distinct advantage. Gathering the vile package close, he hurled it with all his strength, casting it out and away into whatever void it might find.

His mind was roaring, wild and fierce, and the need to pursue and destroy was nearly irresistible He could feel the tension in his own muscles, the furious anger coursing through his blood, but a glowing sense of profound relief and safety managed to pierce the white-hot perimeter of his wrath.

"_Spock."_

"_Leonard?"_

"_Wake up, dammit. Open your eyes."_

He yanked himself back to consciousness, back to Jim crouched beside him on the floor of the cubicle. Their eyes met and flew to the door of the lab to find it yawning open, the panel in pieces, and a nervous looking Chekov dancing from foot to foot in front of them.

"Keptin, Commander. He is asking for you."

His feet were beneath him, moving him forward, before his mind could process the ensign's words. He launched himself through the door, falling at the doctor's side to run accessing hands over the limp arms and legs. To his left, Mr. Scott was helping a dazed, pallid Philip Settle to a chair.

The target of his rage lay to his right, his eyes glazed as he stared blankly at the floor. Mr. Sulu was attempting to elicit some type of reaction from the man, but he remained completely unresponsive. With a low growl, Spock drew his livid glare away from the Betazoid doctor. There would be time later to exact punishment. Right now, his concern was for Leonard.

Jim had joined him on the floor and the two of them began methodically probing and massaging, drawing circulation back into Leonard's limbs. He worked his hands down the length of the doctor's arm, stroking his fingers as a tired voice whispered, "Jim…hypo…blue stuff behind you..."

Turning quickly, Jim grabbed the silver instrument. "How much."

"All of it."

Jim complied, a subtle, vengeful glimmer in his eyes as he depressed the hypospray. A slight tremor ran through Leonard's body, than a stronger shiver and the involuntary flex of muscles. The fingers that Spock clasped twitched and bent, gently squeezing his hand and relief and elation washed through his body as he drew them to his lips, meeting the doctor's warm, hazel eyes.

"Took you both long enough."

Leonard made it a mere two steps inside the penthouse before Spock caught him, seizing him around the waist and pressing him tight against his chest. With his feet dangling an inch above the ground, the Vulcan moved with single minded intensity, initiating the door locks, the primal need to place protective barriers between his mates and the dangers of the outside world overriding all his senses.

Releasing him, Spock began a full-scale assault on Len's clothing, methodically divesting him of his shoes, socks, and shirt as the other man writhed, squirmed and bitched at the top of his lungs. Ignoring the ongoing chorus of "dammits", and "green-blooded…" that spewed from his doctor's mouth, Spock set his fingers to Len's waistband and tore open the button.

"Goddammit, don't rip them…Spock…okay. OKAY!" he roared, ripping himself out of the Vulcan's arms. Yanking his slacks down and kicking them roughly to the side, he turned, his arms held up in surrender as he stood in nothing but his boxers. "Okay," he murmured in a calm, soothing tone, his expression suddenly gentle and understanding, "I'm okay, Spock. Go ahead and look."

He held his arms out wide as the Vulcan surged forward, running sensitive hands over every inch of his body, searching for any possible injury, no matter how small. To his left, Len could see Jim leaning against the wall, an amused expression on his face but a sheen of concentration in his eyes. Len sighed. He wasn't fooled by the nonchalance. Jim needed to see he was okay as badly as the Vulcan.

Spock's search was extensive, his fingers running over and over the cooler human skin as he sought out any damage, his pent-up fear refusing to give way before the logic of his own hands and eyes. Len could feel the tremors against his skin, could hear the slight hitching of the Vulcan's breath. Carefully, slowly, he ran his hands up and over Spock's chest, reaching up to cup his face and draw his gaze. There was fire in the black eyes, an inferno of unresolved rage that drew Len into its depths as a low growl rumbled through the Vulcan's chest.

"_It was well within my rights to take his life, Leonard. He challenged me for my mate."_

"_Spock," _Leonard began evenly, calmly, rubbing his thumbs in light circles over the Vulcan's tight jaw, "_look, I know you're furious, but you can't fight a man in that condition, and if you were thinking straight right now, you'd know that. It would be like fighting a child. And besides," _he continued, letting his hands drift down to gently massage Spock's shoulders, "_the best punishment I can think of is the one he brought on himself. Let him live out his life in his broken mind. Personally, I think it's rather poetic."_

His hands continued to trace patterns on the Vulcan's shoulders and chest, placating circles smoothing across the soft fabric, but he could still feel the tension tightening, coiling, preparing to explode. Catching his wrists in the gentle but firm manacles of his hands, Spock pushed him back a step and turned sharply away.

"_I am not in control, Leonard. I believe the rage I am experiencing is uncontainable and I am without an appropriate outlet_."

Len felt himself sliding into doctor mode, his mind unconsciously running through possible avenues of treatment_. "Alright, what do you need? Will meditation work?"_

Spock rolled his neck in agitation, his shaking hands flexing and unflexing. _"Yes, it would help…but I am currently unable…I cannot leave…"_

His voice trickled off in frustration. Glancing to his left, Len cast Jim a worried look. His best suggestion was a punching bag and he was about to voice the idea when a strange gleam of resolve washed over Spock's face. In two quick strides, the Vulcan was suddenly beside him, scooping him into his arms and hugging him close to his chest.

There was a strange, primal essence bleeding off the Vulcan as he stormed towards Jim, still cradling Len tight. He easily herded the other man into the hallway, stalking him ruthlessly as his firm hands held Len immobile. He pursued Jim through the door of the master suite, sliding the door shut behind him before dumping Leonard in a graceless pile on the bed. Turning towards his other mate, he caught Jim easily around the waist and sat him on the mattress, silently pulling his shoes and socks off before seizing Jim's legs and swinging them onto the bed.

A single worded command roared through their minds.

"_STAY."_

With a sharp turn, Spock exited the room as they stared after him, matching expressions of incredulity decorating their faces. "He just told us to _stay_," Jim mused in disbelief as the distant sound of the study door hissing shut drifted down the hall. "And was there some kind of logic behind taking my shoes?"

"Logic? Who can say? Maybe he just thought you'd be less likely to leave the bed without them. After all, mine are still in the living room." Rubbing his hands furiously up and down his arms, Len repressed a shiver. "Do you think he'd be able to tell if I got out of bed for a second to grab a shirt? It's freezing in here."

Crouching down on the bed, beside him, Jim laid an arm around his shoulders. "Its seventy-two degrees in here, Bones, but you're shaking like a leaf. I'm no doctor, but I think you might be going into shock."

"Acute Stress Reaction."

"What?"

"Real shock requires a physical injury that messes with the body's blood perfusion. ASR just mimics the symptoms. Besides, I don't have it. I'm not sick."

"Just freaked out?"

Len nodded. "Yeah. But I am cold."

Pressing his lips to Len's head, Jim smiled. "I think I can help you with that."

Pulling his arm back, Jim reached for the edge of the heavy down comforter, peeling the blankets and sheets down the bed and tumbling the pillows into an inviting nest. With a gentle tug on Len's arm, Jim navigated him into the center, throwing a blanket over the doctor's shoulder. Then he turned his attention to his own clothes, making quick work of his shirt before unsnapping his pants and shimmying out of them as his legs kicked in the air. Clad in nothing but his boxers, he slid beneath the blankets next to Len, twining their limbs together in a comforting tangle and dragging the blankets up and over their heads.

"Better," he asked mischievously in the muted darkness of the covers.

"Dammit, Jim, what are we, twelve?

"Sssshhh," he murmured against Len's ear. "You need to relax." His fingers worked gently over the tensed muscles in Len's back, his fingers deft and gauging.

"Are you checking me out, Jim," Len grumbled in the dark. "I'm fine, I promise."

"Yeah, I know, but I still can't help making sure. Humor me, Bones."

"Fine, kid." Shifting on his hips, Len pressed tighter into his chest, his own arms holding tight. "So, what do you think will happen now?"

Jim sighed. "Well, security brought some Betazoid representatives in to help guard Tor, on the off chance that he wakes up functional, but you saw the initial report. The chances of his recovery are pretty shitty to say the least."

"Yeah, well, I can't say I'm all too sorry."

Jim nodded, "Neither can I. And I'm glad you stopped Spock. I think you're right. The guy can live with the punishment of his own making, trapped inside his head. Seems like justice to me."

"The cure."

"Man, you really were out of it. Settle's going to be okay, and the rest of the team was only mildly affected by Tor's voodoo. They were reassembled while you were giving your statement to security and they all verified that the end result of your test indicates a cure. They'll be re-running it here and on New Vulcan under Spock's supervision."

"Did they seem optimistic?"

"Bones, they seemed ecstatic. I think if you gave them wings, they'd fly." Nuzzling his doctor, he pressed gentle kisses along his neck. "You did it Bones. I knew you would."

"You mean that when you say it, don't you." A warm arm hugged Jim close as Len's voice took on a scratchy, heavy quality. "Didn't you have any doubts? I mean, I came home and told you that the tests were a complete failure and you automatically assumed that someone must be messing with the results. Why would you think that? Why wouldn't you just think I might be wrong?"

Jim sighed against his neck. "I know you can be wrong sometimes, Bones, and that no one's right all the time, not even my fearless doctor. But, Bones, as far as I can tell, finding a cure is like finding a solution to any problem, right. You pick the very best people and try to create the very best possible scenario but in the end, you need to act on faith, and my faith, my past, and my gut were all telling me to trust you, so I did. I'd do it again, too."

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jim stared down at his doctor. "Bones, I get it, okay. I understand why you always doubt yourself, but maybe I can just see you with more objective eyes. I knew you wouldn't fail because you just don't fail. You didn't fail the Vulcan's and you didn't fail your father, whether you want to believe it or not. In fact, I'd love to hear what all the survivors of Signet would say if they knew how hard you come down on yourself. You know, all the people who are still walking around, living out their lives, because of you. Do you ever think of about them?" He asked, gently stroking the bridge of Len's nose. The doctor sighed.

"No," he replied heavily, "No, I never do."

"Yeah, well, you should."

It was Len who pushed himself up this time, rolling Jim gently on his back and reaching down to graze a finger along his cheekbone. "Maybe I should. Maybe you should, too."

Jim grabbed at his hand. "Should what?"

"Should recognize your own worth. Should stop trying to prove stuff to people who don't matter anyway."

"But you _do_ matter, Bones. Besides, you told me to find a way to forgive myself."

"Yeah, I did say that. And what if I told you to forget it?"

"_Bones."_

"No, Jim, I mean it. Listen to me. You proved your commitment, okay. You proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt when you decided to throw everything you had behind my theory, based on nothing but pure faith. Because of that, a race of people will live and I…I'll be able to look in the mirror and sleep at night. You might've done stuff that broke me, Jim, but it just doesn't balance out with how much you continue to put me back together. So, I'll make you a deal, okay," he continued, pressing a quick kiss to Jim's lips. "I promise that from here on out, I will forgive myself for my father and I will let it go. I will stop walking around with that weight bearing me down into the ground. And you, in turn, will forgive yourself for me. You'll let it go, stop castigating yourself and trying to kiss my ass all the time. And you will goddamn let me put my hands on you and bring you off. No more of this bullshit about not being worthy of my touch or whatever. We let it go, Jim, right now."

Propping himself up on both elbows with the blanket tenting atop his head, Jim stared into the darkness in front of him. "Hell, Bones, I don't think I've ever done that before. I mean, I'm awesome at letting go, but I usually just let go of the whole relationship, not just the baggage that's fucking it up. I don't know if I'd even know how to do it."

"You think I do?" Bones pushed up to sit beside him. "I'm also pretty good at letting go of relationships, or have you forgotten my first marriage. But I think that's the point, Jim. Let's not be that for each other. Let's be something new, something better. I don't know quite how it works but we'll figure it out." Reaching up, he wrapped an arm around Jim's neck and pressed their foreheads together. "We will figure it out, Jim. We'll figure it out together. Okay."

A shudder ran through his mate and an arm looped tightly around the back of his own neck as Jim nodded against his head. "Okay, Bones. Okay."

A wicked smile cracked Len's lips. "Good," he breathed, gently nudging Jim down flat on the bed. "Then I think it's time we get started." Running his hands down the length of Jim's stomach, he felt a hitch of breath.

"What are you doing, Bones."

"I'm putting my hands on you. Now shut up and enjoy it."

It was stuffy under the blanket, the air hot and thick, but the unique scent of Jim was trapped under there, surrounding him like an intoxicating haze and Len breathed it deeply as he worked his lips and tongue over Jim's chest and throat. Beneath him, he could feel Jim tensing, gripping the sheet with both hands as he struggled not to move. A part of him, the part that still held on to his need to atone, was tempting him to push Len away, but a stronger need was winning out, the need to be close to his mate. Len felt his indecision as it drifted across the bond and he quickly set about confusing the issue further. With a quick yank, he peeled away Jim's boxers and took him fully in his mouth.

Jim gasped, the audible sound registering in Len's ears as the brunt of the sensation raced down the bond to explode in his mind. With his hands winding through Len's hair, Jim gave himself over, panting and whining into the covers as Len laved and caressed with his lips, tongue, and hands. With added determination, Len sucked him down to the root as Jim bucked and cried, pieces of words spilling from his lips between his moans.

It didn't take long.

Grabbing both of Jim's hips in his hands, Len pinned him to the mattress, denying him the slim threads of relief his wild squirming and bucking had afforded. Bearing down harder, Len worked the length of his shaft, letting his teeth graze lightly at the sensitive skin with each thrust. Jim was close, so close, his voice wild and ragged as he pleaded and begged in the darkness. His hands fell on Len's shoulders and the nails digging in to his flesh were the only warning he had. Then Jim was coming, hot and steady and strong. He held him firm and basking in the loving words that poured from Jim's mouth as shaking hands stroked through his hair. Still trembling, Jim reached down and pulled, drawing him up the length of his body to rest against his chest. Jim had no breath but his arms and legs encircled his mate and clung tightly as the same words looped through their minds over and over again.

"_I love you. I love you. I love you so much."_

Jim's heart was still racing when they heard the click of the door and felt the warm, curling fingers of an approaching mind. Lifting the edge of the blanket, they reached out synchronously, feeling for warm Vulcan skin. Pulling Spock beneath the covers, they fell on his clothing and stripped it away, leaving him bare as they drew him into their tangle.

Reaching out a hand, Len gently traced a pointed ear. _"Are you feeling better?"_

A warm hand captured his wrist, fingers tracing lightly, deliciously, over the sensitive skin. _"I am well enough, Leonard. The bond carried the sensations of your mutual exchange to me and it did…much…to temper my emotions."_

"_Oh, really. Did ya hear that, Jim?"_

"_I did. Well, I'm, um, glad we could help. Does this mean you're okay?"_

"_For now. I am certain the feelings will continue to return in a less turbulent form and I will continually need to address them, but at this point, I am in control"_

"_Oh. Well, do you have stay in control?"_

"_If by your words, you are attempting to draw me into intercourse, you will find me willing to oblige."_

"_Well, that's no damned surprise. Arousal's a natural response to stress."_

"_You are correct, Doctor. It is also a natural response to fear. And relief."_

"_You were relieved?"_

Slithering a hand around Len's back, Spock drew him tightly to his side."_"To have you safe in my arms? Infinitely."_

"_I second that."_ Said Jim, curling up around Len's back. _"And as your damn captain, I am ordering that no one in this bed get themselves into any more near-death experiences. For at least a month. Now please," _he continued, sliding his hands into suggestive places. "_Can we please just shut up and have sex?"_

"_Hell, yes."_

With a gentle tug, Spock pulled Jim close, pressing a hand to each of the humans' faces and throwing their bond wide open. They descended into pure sensation, skin on skin on skin as they touched and explored and writhed together. They rolled and pressed, sliding in caressing in artless ecstasy, bodies and minds twining and blending together seamlessly. There was no penetration, there was no need, for how could they ever be further inside each other than they already were.

Throwing his head back, Bones was barely aware of the softness of the bed beneath them. All he felt was them, above him and beneath him and around him. It was their hands and skin and lips but also their thoughts and hopes and dreams, weaving and knitting together to form a whole. Whatever doubts he might have hidden in the deepest recesses of his soul were torn to shreds in that instant, simply annihilated in the face of their connection as a gentle voice echoed in his mind.

"_Leonard?"_

"_Yeah, Spock."_

"_You asked…"_

"_What did I ask?"_

"_You asked if I could even feel love."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I will tell you now, with utmost conviction, that I can."_

**Epilogue: The Beginning**

_The Beginning…_it was a simple phrase but full of complex layers, invigorating the senses and sparkling with promise and potential. It offered unending possibility, adventure, and the sense of true rebirth. Not just a beginning but _the Beginning, _the one that marked the most vital of experiences.

For Leonard H. McCoy, _the Beginning_ was marked by a series of ends. The end of his research team, the end of his illness. The end of his pain and doubts and fears. It was the end of a yearlong battle for his mind, heart, and soul, and he had to admit that he felt like he'd emerged the victor. He was treasured, desired, wanted, and loved and he wore that knowledge like a badge of honor.

The first part was statements; endless statements and depositions and debriefings. The bond, the cure, the attack by Tor. They learned that the Betazoid was practically catatonic, his mind ripped apart by the force with which he'd been expelled from Len's head. A hint of sympathy had momentarily wiggled its way into the Len's psyche, but Jim had been quick to point out that Tor had had a similar fate in mind for the doctor. The damage had made Tor an unreliable witness against the backers who had hired him to sabotage the cure, but the company's name had been revealed and placed on a watch list, their Starfleet contracts pulled and cancelled. It burned them all, especially Spock, to see the real perpetrators so lightly punished, but they had done all they could. For his part, Jim was sure that a certain admiral wouldn't let the cause rest easy.

That had been the first week.

The press had been horrible, invasive and pushy, jockeying for the latest scoop and newest angle as the facts and scurrilous opinions blended together and hit the public eye. Starfleet's P.R. office was on red alert, demanding interviews and publicity events to broadcast the intimate details of the _Heroes' Wedding_ to the world. Leonard had borne it as well as he could but when he learned that Starfleet was planning a formal reception for them, he reached the end of his damn rope.

They literally fled in the night, trading the cool dampness of San Francisco for the heavy heat of a Georgian sun. And pigtails, and a wide, green field and his daughter's smile as they blew enormous bubbles that danced on the breeze. Spock had called it an illogical exercise but he had been helpless in the face of Joanna's stalwart insistence and had proven rather adept at bubble-making, much to the little girl's delight. And so they had passed their time in peaceful, familial solitude, hidden away from the public's prying eyes.

That had been the second week.

Then it was paperwork again, launch preparation and mission orders. Jim knew it was a foregone conclusion, that the brass would never deny the request, but he'd still held his breath every minute until the official transfer order was signed and in his hand. He was standing in the transporter room with Spock as the beam disappeared, leaving a scowling figure cursing in muted breaths in the middle of the platform. Taking two quick steps to the floor, Len stared at them both, his expression softening as he came forward and gently linked their fingertips. Catching Jim's gaze with a cheeky grin, he asked, "Permission to come aboard, Captain.

That had been the third week…and the beginning of the rest of their lives.

* * *

**Hope everyone enjoyed it. Feedback would be greatly appreciated as this story kinda turned me into a nervous wreck at some points. Thanks!**


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